


Razor's Edge

by mjules, xbedhead



Series: The King's Road [1]
Category: Erskineville Kings
Genre: AU, Angst, Drama, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Movie-Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-08-27
Updated: 2001-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-11 18:56:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 68,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjules/pseuds/mjules, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xbedhead/pseuds/xbedhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when a relationship that's holding everything together starts to fall apart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You're a Vision All Undone

**Author's Note:**

> This was written several years ago with the help of . It was our baby for such a long time. Our paths have parted since then, but I think the story is strong as ever. _Erskineville Kings_ (which the story is based around) is a great film and you should see it, but you can follow this story without having watched it.

“Well, if it’s not you, then it’s gotta be you that’s missing,” he muttered to himself as he loosened a wire and replaced it with a new one that had already made its way down the entire line to the final place it could be plugged in.  

Leaning up and checking the clock on the wall above the garage door, he shook his head and scooted quickly over to the driver’s seat and fired the engine, sitting only half inside the car. He revved the motor a few times with satisfied nod of his head, flipped the key, then hopped back out and scanned the engine block once more.   

_‘That was it,’_ he thought with a mild sense of accomplishment. _‘And we got it before the customer came back.’_

  Leaning down under the hood a little further, he made sure that all the nuts and bolts he’d loosened in his search for the faulty wire had been retightened and that all of his rags and tools were collected.  

“Well _shit_ ,” he cursed in a rough whisper as he dropped his socket wrench fitting into the belly of the engine.  

As he leaned down over the passenger side of the car to get to it, he heard the scuffling of feet in front of him and looked to his left, toward the open door of the garage.   What he saw in front of him took his breath away.   Literally. Full-on sappy cliché, cue the dramatic music.   In any other situation, his head should’ve dropped, especially being as he’d just lost all sense of muscle tone in his body.

But no.

It fired upward, right into the hood of the car, pinning the top of his ear mercilessly against the unforgiving metal.  

Shooting backward a few steps, he threw the wrench he’d had a hold of down to the oily concrete floor and brought both hands up to the side of his head, grimacing at the painful stinging coursing through his ear.   Normally, he would’ve been cursing a blue streak and putting all sailors within a two hundred mile radius to shame, but for one reason alone he held his tongue.   

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean t’scare you! Are you okay?”  

By tilting his head slightly from where he’d been concentrating on the ground, he could just see her out of the edge of his vision. She’d come considerably closer to him - so close he could touch her if he wanted to - and was leaning down to get a look at his face.  

“Fine,” he ground out, rubbing harshly against the still-smarting skin.   Slowly he straightened himself up, giving his ear one more good pull before he brought his hand down to his side. Now that the pain was slowly fading away, the feeling of embarrassment was making itself known as he realized just what he’d done.

“Uh...sorry ‘bout that,” he apologized, bending down to pick up the wrench.  

“Oh, good heav’ns no. It was me, I shouldn’t’ve sneaked up on ya like that. I just thought you’d heard me and I saw that you were still workin’ on my car,” she offered up remorsefully, motioning her head toward the newly repaired vehicle beside them. “Are you sure you’re okay? That looked like it really hurt.”

She took a half-step forward, as if she were going to touch him but stopped, and he felt something inside give an odd little jump.  

“That’s your car?” he asked, nodding as he spoke instead of answering her question directly. His tongue was feeling strangely tied and he didn’t want to make a bigger fool out of himself than he already had.

“Yeah, I’ve been havin’ some troubles with it for a few weeks now, but haven’t been able ta bring it in. Did ya find out what was wrong with it?”   

She followed him over to the car and watched intently as he slid back into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. The engine fired without so much as a hiccup and the woman’s face broke out into a huge grin.  

“You fixed it?” she asked giddily, peering into the engine as the various belts and cylinders pistons spun and fired.

He couldn’t help feeling a small swell of pride at her obvious approval and did his best to stifle it.   “Yeah - but be careful,” he urged, stepping quickly out of the car after shutting the engine off. “Don’t lean in too close to it, okay?”  

She stepped back obediently, giving him a small smile as she did so. “So I can take it home already?”

Her eyes were fixed on his face, roaming his features, and she really couldn’t help the way her lips turned upward. He had a streak of grease down the plane of his left cheek, and something about it highlighted the shape of his jaw just perfectly...  

“I don’ see why not. ‘Course, Nick might want ya ta pay for it first,” he added with a straight face.  

Snatched from her reverie with a guilty jump, she nodded earnestly as she pulled out her checkbook from her purse, ducking her head to hide the sudden blush in her cheeks. “Oh, of course. I just meant that...”  

She looked up and trailed off when she saw the slight twinkle in his eyes that let her knew that he’d only been messing with her. “Hah-hah - does Nick always hire such comedians to do his work for him?” she kidded dryly, a genuinely appreciative smirk tugging at her mouth as she stepped over to the counter up against the back wall.  

“Only if they’re as good at fixin’ cars as I am,” he answered matter-of-factly, picking up a grease rag to clean his hands off a little as he followed along behind her.  Stepping around the counter, he looked at the clock and added up the labor and parts on the grimy old calculator. Seventy-three dollars.

_‘Jesus, that’s high. Maybe I could...’_

“That’ll be forty-two dollars, m’am.”  

She gave him a curious look, then glanced quickly back down to the calculator screen. “Uh...are you sure about that?”  

Letting his own eyes follow her gaze, he saw that the calculator was turned slightly so that she had a perfect view of the numbers it posted.

_‘Shit.’_

“Well...uh, there’s...a special,” he stammered, thoroughly mortified and wishing that he could give anything to just rewind the past five minutes.

“A special?” she asked dubiously, obviously amused by his sudden discomfiture.  

He made his best effort to try and inconspicuously nudge the calculator back his way, but she saw him the entire time.   

“Yeah...on wires,” he covered. “There’s a special on wires t’day and we just forgot ta post the sign is all.”  

_‘Go ahead, Allan - dig yourself a little deeper, why don’t ya?’_

“Okay,” she relented, feeling a giddy rush at the thought that it was _her_ that was making him so flustered. And she really didn’t think there was a special... But then again, maybe he’d just hit his head a little harder than he’d let on.

“So I just make it out to Nick’s Garage, right?”  

“Uh huh and today’s date is the fourteenth.”  

“Thank you,” she answered sweetly, giving him a kind smile before looking back down at her checkbook.  

While she was writing, he took the time to give her a good once over and was duly impressed with what he saw.

_‘I didn’t think they made women this beautiful anymore. That’s gotta be the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen.’_

_‘Well, you oughta know by now - she’s been laughin’ at your sorry ass the entire time.’_

_‘I think she likes me.’_

While she was filling out her register, he leaned on his forearms against the counter and waited.  

_‘Are those green eyes, or blue?’_ he thought idly as he tried to peer between the dark brown locks of hair that had fallen across her face. She was definitely the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen walk through those doors - and he’d seen a lot pass through them.  

He wondered if she was single, then quickly bashed the thought.   

_‘Like you’d have an ice cube’s chance in hell with this one, mate.’_

At that moment, she chose to scribble out the total and raise her head, catching his eyes just before he sheepishly looked away. She gave him a shy smile - her own attempt at saying she didn’t mind him watching her, then tore off the check without even looking at it.

  He cleared his throat, noticeably embarrassed, and made a rather obvious pretense at scanning over the slip to make sure everything official was on there.

“Okay, then, uh...Miss Taylor - I guess you can be on your way,” he said quickly, jotting down a receipt on the pad and handing it to her. “If you have anymore problems, just uh...just let me know...I mean - bring it back and we’ll take a look at it. Here.”

_‘Stop talking. Just stop it, right now.’_

“Okay,” she said with a grin, feeling her stomach doing flip-flops as she decided to take a little chance. “Who uh...who should I ask for - if I was to bring it back? You said there was someone here that was really good at fixing cars - I might wanna take it ta him.”

She peeked at him through her eyelashes, then looked away, feeling silly and embarrassed for being coy, though she hadn’t done it on purpose.  

_‘Is she flirtin’ with me?’_ he wondered momentarily, before focusing on stopping the stupid grin he was feeling on the inside from completely taking over his face.  

“Uh, Wace,” he offered, clearing his throat for what seemed like the tenth time in as many minutes. “Wace Allan.”

“Well, okay, then - Wace Allan,” she drawled his name deliberately, with a smile, “if I have anymore troubles, I will most certainly bring my car back to you.”

She was half-shy, almost blushing, as she slid into her car and fired up the engine. She powered the driver and passenger’s windows down, then put the car into gear.

“All right. Sounds good. I mean, you shouldn’t be havin’ any troubles with it, but in case ya do - you can bring it back here. For somethin’ else that is...’cause the wire’s’re fixed now.”  

_‘Jesus Christ - you go the whole day without sayin’ five words ta anybody and here ya go blabbin’ your mouth the entire time with this girl...’_

“Got it,” she answered with a sharp nod, smiling all the way as she back her car out of the garage. She threw her hand out the window and gave the horn a short tap as she pulled off the parking lot and out to the main street.  

“Well, _that_ went nicely,” he mumbled aloud sarcastically as he watched her drive off.

With a sigh, he brought the rag he’d carried with him up to his face and gave it a good smack. “Fuckin’ retard.”    
 


	2. You Are a Change in the Direction and We are Making Some Connection

“Jen?”  

“Aunt Rosemary!” Jen gasped into the phone, happy surprise in her voice. She carefully set her bottle of beer to the side, settling into her comfortable couch and closing her eyes. “How are you?”

“I’m doing well, darling. The Prestons invited me on their holiday to Tasmania and the weather is simply gorgeous here.”  

“Oh, that sounds great,” Jen responded sincerely, smiling. Her Aunt Rosemary was the only family member she was still close to as she hadn’t spoken to her parents since she’d chosen early childhood education as her major in university and then announced that a small urban public school right outside of Sydney had offered her a position upon graduation.   

The Prestons were old family friends -- she had a very personal history with their son, an only child like herself -- and it didn’t surprise her at all that they had invited Rosemary along on their vacation.  

“How are Mr. and Mrs. Preston?”  

“Oh they’re fine, ducky. How are _you_ doing, though?”

Jen heard every unasked aspect of that question and bit her lip, looking for an answer. “I’m settling in well,” she answered slowly. “Haven’t met a lot of people yet, but the ones I have are really nice.”   

The memory of the mechanic who had fixed her car -- _Wace Allan_ ; now there was a name she thought she’d remember for a while -- flitted through her mind and she blushed, choosing not to mention that to Rosemary. “Hooking up” with random mechanics wasn’t something a Taylor would do, or so she was certain her father would say. Well, maybe he wouldn’t use the phrase _‘hooking up’_ , but still. And since when did she assume that’s what she was going to be doing?

She abandoned that disturbing train of thought in favor of continuing to answer her aunt’s question. “I’ve met the principal at the school and a few teachers, and I think it’s going to be good. I’m excited.”  

“I’m excited for you, dear. I’m sure you’ll do very well.”  

“Thanks, Aunt Rosemary.”  

“Of course, darling. Now, I hope you’ll excuse me, but I’m being summoned. Dinner time, I suppose.”  

The mirth in her aunt’s voice made Jen laugh and a sudden feeling of homesickness filtered through her. 

“Bon appetit,” she smiled. “And tell the Prestons I said hello.”  

“So I shall. Goodbye!”  

“Bye, Aunt Rosemary.”  

She hung up the phone softly, her mind immediately returning the vexing thought of Wace Allan. There had been a definite -- instant, even -- attraction, sure, but... 

She paused, remembering the warm hazel of his eyes, the way he’d seemed so... _preoccupied_ with her from the moment she’d entered the garage. The way his attention had focused solely on her, but not in a creepy way... 

She shook her head against the tangled mass of her thoughts and emotions, trying to find some clarity.  

More than an attraction, she thought, there had been a pull, some kind of magnetic force that made her want to see him again, get to know him, spend time with him. She sighed and picked up her beer, refocusing on the book she’d been reading with a determined frown. It wasn’t like she was going to sabotage her car just to get it into the shop again so she could see him -- although, really, if he kept giving her discounts, it might not be a bad idea. She giggled at the memory of his embarrassment when she’d seen the calculator, and her heart did a little flip.  

Damn. If she didn’t get this guy out of her head, and quick, she was going to end up paying a fortune in car repairs.  

***  

Jen double-checked her list nervously as she headed toward the tiny school supply store that was tucked into the row of shops that lined the street. She’d realized too late that she needed her own supply of pencils for when her students misplaced or forgot theirs and had half an idea of buying an alphabet chart to replace the ancient, faded, crumbling one on the wall above her chalkboard.   

Just as she passed the door of the auto parts store, she rammed into a solid object and took three stumbling steps backwards, blinking as she retrieved her mind from the place it had wandered to and realized she’d just run straight into somebody coming out of the store.  

Startled, she glanced up at his face, brushing her hair back to see him clearly. It was the guy from the mechanic’s shop and her heart skipped erratically. 

“Oh! Hi!” she squeaked, feeling her palms go immediately clammy. 

That wasn’t normal, was it? Maybe she was coming down with something...  

“Hi,” he answered, clearing his throat and nodding a little. “I’m, um --” 

“Wace,” she interrupted, cursing herself for sounding like an overeager schoolgirl. “Right?” she tagged on. “From the garage?”  

“Yeah,” he answered, clearing his throat again and fiddling nervously with the box of spark plugs he'd just bought.   

“I’m Jen. Jen Taylor.” 

“Yeah, I know -- I mean, um, it was on your check...” 

“Oh, right.” She looked down at her feet, blushing with embarrassment.   

After a half second of awkward silence, he blurted, “How are - how’s your car?” 

“It’s great, it’s perfect,” she said, trying to do her best to tone down her strangely giddy reaction. “You did a great job.”  

“Thanks,” he said quietly, his eyes flickering downwards as a light pink stain brushed over his cheeks. 

They stood there for a moment, looking anywhere but at each other, until they both started speaking at the same time.  

“Sorry - go ahead,” he said, and she shook her head.  

“No - I was just - no, you go ahead,” she countered, cursing her lack of ability to speak coherently around him.  

“Oh, I uh,” he paused, sucking in a deep breath, and she was momentarily distracted by the lift and shrug of his broad shoulders. “I was just gonna ask ya... if you’re not busy... if ya’d like to do somethin’ sometime.” 

It came out in halting rushes, and she started grinning madly before he ever reached the end.  

 _‘Jesus Christ! What the hell're ya doin', Allan?’_ his mind raced frantically, totally thrown off-guard by the thoughts that had flitted through only briefly on their way out to his mouth.  

“Yeah, sure,” she answered, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. “Any -- anytime.”  

Her words shook him from his momentary stupor and, letting out the breath he'd been holding in a short burst of air, he tucked his free hand in his pocket before it could clasp into a fist and be shaken in victory.  

“Great.” A broad grin, flashing teeth, was quickly stifled, but his lips still curved upward irrepressibly. “How’s Friday night?”  

“Oh, I have to grade tests on Friday - but, uh, Saturday would be good. Is Saturday okay?”  

He nodded, seeming to be regaining a bit of his equilibrium as the conversation progressed. 

_‘You can do this,’_ he thought, giving himself a mental pep-talk. _‘It’s just like talkin’ to any woman, mate. Any...incredibly...gorgeous and absolutely flawless woman with the most beautiful –’_   

“Yeah, Saturday’s fine. You’re a teacher?” he answered quickly, trying to keep his face void of where his mind had just traveled to.   

“Huh?”  

“You said you hadta grade tests on Friday. So you’re a teacher?” he repeated, taking note of the pleasantly wistful look of surprise on her face when he’d asked the question.   

“Oh - yeah. First year, Erko Public. Just started.”  

He nodded again, and she found it funny that they were so stilted and awkward with each other, like a movie-cliche.   

“I, um - here,” she finally said, tearing her eyes away from his as she rummaged through her purse for paper and pen. Scribbling, using her hand for a makeshift ‘desk,’ she said, “Here’s my number an’ address...”  

“Seven-thirty okay?” he asked as he took it from her, and she nodded.  

“Seven-thirty’s great.”  

“Good,” he said, and his smile came easily for the first time. “I’ll see ya then.”  

“I’m looking forward to it,” she said candidly, her own warm smile breaking across her face.  

She stood there in the parking lot as he walked away, their eyes following each other as long as possible, and he gave her a short wave as he climbed into his car. She waved back, then self-consciously glanced about to see if anyone was paying attention to her. They weren’t, and she brought her hand up to her mouth, catching a fingernail between her teeth as she watched him drive away.  

From his rearview mirror he could see her slowly shrinking form, still standing in the parking area, her eyes trained on his car and he felt his stomach do an unfamiliar flip. Startled, he realized he was actually getting jittery at the idea of going out with her. That was certainly a new reaction. 

_‘Well, it's not like this is just **any** woman, mate,’_ he excused himself, deciding that he didn't mind that slight flutter after all.  

Peeling his eyes away from the mirror with some effort, he maneuvered the car around a corner, and when he was sure that he was out of sight, he let loose a grin and balled up his fist, finally giving it that victory shake.


	3. Accidentally in Love

She walked beside him up the sidewalk toward her house, wondering if he’d notice how she’d deliberately slowed her steps the closer they got. She didn’t want to be there yet, didn’t want the night to be over already.   She hadn’t really known what to expect of her date with Wace Allan, or if she’d really thought about her expectations at all. She was fairly certain, though, that she hadn’t been prepared for this feeling. She loved his company; his very presence beside her made her feel... _special_ , or something.  

It had never been like that with Rory Preston, who had been her only serious boyfriend. They’d known each other since childhood - he’d been her escort at her sixteenth birthday party, which had felt more like a formal ‘coming out’ celebration than a real party. He was nice in his own way, as devastatingly handsome as a Gap or Abercrombie model, and she’d lost her virginity to him, but being with Rory, even sexually, had never made her feel anything close to the kind of buzz that walking a foot away from Wace did.

  Their date hadn’t been anything that would make the front page of _Cosmo_ , or even the reader’s letters inside - just a simple dinner at a nice mid-grade restaurant and some friendly conversation - but she had this feeling that it was the start of something huge. Her skin tingled all over with the sheer delight of being near him, and she didn’t think that was all lust talking, either. Sure, he was good-looking in a way that made her heart stop, but there was a kind of hesitant affection and genuine respect in his manner towards her that was something altogether unfamiliar. She loved it.

  They had talked of inconsequential things, both of them vaguely skirting their family backgrounds (he had a brother, she was an only child), but the manner in which even the most unassuming matter of conversation was shared (such as the childhood story of when she fell out of a swing on the school playground and thought she’d killed herself, or the time he had camped out with his brother in the back yard and stubbornly spent the night in the rain, refusing to go inside) created a feeling of intimacy that she found absolutely addictive.

  They were at her front door now, and she turned to him, doing her best not to fidget as she smiled shyly, expectantly at him. “Thank you,” she said softly, sincerely. “I really enjoyed that.”  

“So did I,” he answered, and the rush of his words, the way he breathed them out like relief, was endearing.

He was letting her take the lead, for the moment anyway, taking his cues from her. He was afraid of what she might not feel, and that alone was enough to tell her what it was that he wanted. Thankfully, it was the same thing she did.  

“I’d like to do it again sometime, maybe,” she said quietly, hoping she’d conveyed that okay, hoping it hadn’t come out sounding demanding or clingy - or worse, careless and insincere.  

“I’d like that too,” he answered, and the genuine smile that touched his eyes let her know it was all okay.

She took a step closer to him, feeling outrageously forward but wanting to let him know it was all right give her a good-night kiss - more than all right, as far as she was concerned.  

He hesitated, drawing back ever so slightly, but then relaxed when she didn’t move away from him. Uncertainly, he let his hands come to rest butterfly-soft on her arms, near her elbows, and leaned forward a little, halting nervously and tilting his head, trying to clue her in to his intentions in case he was reading her wrong and she didn’t want this at all.  

It wasn’t that he didn’t know what the signals meant - the way she was so close she was almost touching him, her face upturned, her breath hitching softly - it was that he couldn’t believe she was giving them to him. She couldn’t really mean it... but then there was an unguarded sigh, carrying a note that sounded a little like impatience and a lot like longing, and he finally gave in and lowered his head tentatively, closing his eyes when he felt her lips brush his, expecting her to pull away and laugh at any moment...

When she didn’t, he nearly fainted with the exhilaration of it. He was kissing her.  

He pulled back after lingering a moment longer than was strictly polite, and her eyes fluttered open with a gentle hum of contentment. The expression he saw in her gaze made his chest feel tight and he licked his suddenly dry lips as if he could capture some trace of her lingering taste.

  “G’night,” he said quietly, and she repeated it in such a low voice he barely heard her before she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his again, drawing a small noise of surprise from him.

He felt the tip of her tongue brush across his mouth for just an instant before she was gone, taking two steps back to break the contact, her hand groping for the handle on her door and missing several times.

  “G’night, Wace,” she said, and the breathy tone of her voice was gratifying to hear. “Call me.”  

“I will,” he promised, knowing that he really would. In fact, it would be all he could do to keep from calling her as soon as he got home, just to hear her voice again. He was in over his head this time, he could already tell. “Night.”  

“Night,” she repeated yet again, backing into her house, keeping her eyes on him until the door closed, and then she leaned back against the wooden surface, her body going boneless against the support, her head thudding against it as she let it drop backwards.

  Her entire body ached pleasantly just under her skin, and she felt a little dizzy as she pressed her fingers to her tingling lips. If she had ordered wine with her dinner, she could’ve blamed it on that, but she’d had only water. Sighing a little dreamily and then giggling at how pathetically moonstruck she sounded, she pushed herself away from the door and got ready for bed, knowing as she crawled between the covers that sleep would be a long time coming. 


	4. Must Be Your Skin I'm Sinking In

The phone jangling on the wall sent a hopeful thrill through her chest and she took a deep breath before she answered, preparing herself for it not to be Wace. They’d gone out only two nights ago, and she’d jumped with anticipation every time the phone had rung since then.  

Most of the time, it was just telemarketers, but once it had been Aunt Rosemary, who had been curious as to why Jen had sounded so excited when she answered the phone. Jen had stumbled around a half-truth and her aunt had just laughed.   

“I’m sure he’s a fine young man,” Rosemary had chuckled, and Jen had sighed with relief that she wasn’t going to be dragged into a description of Wace, which would only end in a lecture about duty to family and station... but then, Rosemary had always been a little more forward-thinking than the rest of her family.

  So now, she was doing her best not to get her hopes up, but she knew she’d been unsuccessful when a hesitant voice came across the line - “Uh, Jen? This is Wace --”  

“Hi!” she interrupted cheerily, and he seemed to falter for a moment.  

“Hey,” he recovered, seemingly emboldened by her enthusiastic greeting. “Um, I was just ringin’ ya to see what you’re doin’ this weekend... was thinkin’ maybe you’d wanna go, um, go out again? With me, I mean. Go out with me.”  

She stifled the giddy laughter in her throat, settling for a face-splitting grin as she said softly, “I’d love to. When were you thinkin’?”  

“Saturday night again?” he asked hopefully, and she started to agree, but remembered suddenly a previous engagement and felt her entire mood do a nosedive.  

“Bugger,” she cursed vehemently. “I completely forgot - I’ve got a bloody teacher’s function that night - some kinda annual dinner, and I said I’d go.”

  “Oh, well, if you don’t wanna - ”

“No, I wanna see you,” she’d insisted, maybe a little too quickly. She was silent for a minute, hesitant about asking him, afraid he wouldn’t want to go and not wanting the disappointment of not seeing him. “Listen, I know it’s probably not your scene, and it’ll probably be boring as all hell, but - would you wanna go with me?”  

She held her breath as she waited for his answer, and he hesitated for a moment and a half before he finally stuttered, “Yeah, I mean, if you want me to...”  

“I’d love for you to,” she assured him. “I’m just afraid you might not like it much.”

  She could almost hear his shrug as he said, “Eh, I’ll manage. What time d’ya want me to pick you up?”  

“The dinner starts at seven-thirty, so... six forty-five okay for you?”  

“That’s fine,” he answered. “What’s the, um, what’s the dress code?”  

She thought she could hear suppressed anxiety in his tone and tried hard to sound reassuring as she said, “Oh, nothin’ fancy... khaki trousers, nice shirt.”

  “Nothin’ fancy,” he repeated, and she puzzled a little at the dry note in his tone. “Okay, so six forty-five on Saturday, right?”

  “Right,” she nodded. “You sure you don’t mind goin’?”

  “Not since it’s with you,” he said with a smile in his voice, and her answering grin was immediate and happy as she melted just a little.  

“Okay,” she said softly, warmly. “I’ll see you then.”  

“See ya,” Wace confirmed, and she waited until she heard the click on his end of the line before hanging the receiver back up, letting her fingers linger dreamily on the smooth surface.

  Suddenly, Saturday night couldn’t get there fast enough.   She spent the rest of the week in giddy anticipation, often awakening in the middle of the night with a stupid grin on her face. She didn’t know what it was about him that affected her so, but she couldn’t seem to help her reaction to him, no matter much she tried to stifle it.   

When he showed up at her front door at six forty-two Saturday night, she had spent the entire afternoon dressing and redressing - her bed was currently occupied by nearly every outfit in her closet, save the one she was wearing - and obsessively fixing her hair and touching up her subtle makeup. She opened the door, both eager and nervous, and found that she immediately lost her breath at the sight that greeted her.  

There was Wace, clean-shaven and wearing a carefully pressed white cotton button-down shirt with tan slacks. She felt her mouth go instantly dry and she hoped she wasn’t staring too much. Her eyes met his, and the expression on his face assured her that he didn’t mind if she was staring - if he even noticed.  

“Hi,” she said quietly, almost shyly, as she worked to speak past the pounding in her chest that felt like it was rattling her lungs.  

“Hi,” he responded hoarsely, clearing his throat.  

She stepped forward boldly and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek in greeting, then stepped back to a comfortable distance. “Thanks for coming to get me.”  

“It was - it was no trouble, really,” he stammered, looking down at his feet and taking a deep breath.

  “You ready to go?” she asked, a little too brightly, and he nodded.   

“Y-yeah.”

  She smiled at him, grabbing her purse off the table and closing the door behind her, walking out to the car parked by the sidewalk. She was honestly surprised, though pleasantly so, when he opened the door for her and held it while she got in. She tugged her skirt down as she sat, noticing how it became so much less than knee-length with the change in position. She hadn’t thought about that when she’d chosen this outfit, although she thought maybe it wasn’t an entirely bad thing.

  If the way his eyes cut over to her suddenly-exposed legs when he got in was any indication, it might be a very _good_ thing, in fact.  

She suddenly felt very much like asking Wace if he’d mind blowing the whole dinner in favor of something a little more relaxed, but she swallowed the thought, knowing that she’d promised the principal she would be there, and being that it was her first year teaching at this school - her first year teaching anywhere, as a matter of fact - she didn’t think it would be wise to skip.  

The short trip to the school - they were holding the banquet in the cafeteria - was spent in alternate silence and attempts at conversation, and though both were slightly awkward, neither felt uncomfortable.  

When they arrived, Jen was immediately accosted by an energetic woman in trousers and a white blouse who greeted her enthusiastically. Wace stood awkwardly to the side for a moment until Jen turned halfway toward him and said to the woman first, “Principal Jenkins, this is Wace Allan. Wace, this is Principal Jenkins.”

  A little uncomfortable with the unfamiliar ritual, Wace cleared his throat and put out his hand to shake the woman’s. “Ma’am,” he said, inclining his head. “’S’nice ta meet ya.”  

“Please, Mr. Allan, call me Lucy. And the pleasure is all mine.”  

Wace felt like his head was spinning from the formality, but he had enough sense (and thank God for Coppa’s random knowledge of these kinds of things) to respond, “Thanks. And you can call me Wace.”

  He saw Jen beam at him from the corner of his eye and allowed himself a small sigh of relief. There - he’d met her boss and he hadn’t made a total idiot of himself. Jen excused them and they made the rounds in a similar manner, until, by the time they reached Tildy Coulson, Wace was wound tighter than a coil.

  “Mrs. Coulson,” Jen began, “this is --”

  “Wace Allan,” Mrs. Coulson interrupted sourly, and Jen’s eyebrows arched slightly in surprise.  

“How are you, Mrs. Coulson,” Wace responded with a stiff nod. He barely remembered the woman, as his school attendance had dropped drastically by the time he’d been in her seventh year math class, but they’d never seemed to get along on the few occasions he showed up for class.  

“I’m surprised you even remembered where the school is located, young man,” she sniffed, and Jen’s forehead wrinkled in confusion and light offense. Wace knew it was a reference to his poor attendance and shrugged mentally. Those years were over.

  “Jen ‘ere gives pretty good directions,” he said casually as he took Jen’s arm and began to gently steer her away. “Nice seein’ ya again, Mrs. Coulson.”

  “I wish I could say the same,” she remarked as the couple walked away.  

Jen looked aghast at her colleague’s behavior and leaned into Wace, close enough that he could easily hear her when she murmured, “Wow, sorry about that. We’ll grab a quick bite to eat and then find somewhere a little more friendly. How does that sound?”  

“Sounds like a plan,” he nodded, relief washing through him at the idea. They should be able to eat pretty quickly and with relatively few complications, at least, and he certainly wouldn’t mind being with Jen away from all the bureaucracy of her coworkers.  

The dinner was set up buffet-style, and Wace gestured for Jen to go ahead of him. As he fixed his own plate, he kept half an eye on what food she chose -- the knowledge might come in handy later on -- and smiled to himself when she took an extra large helping of fresh strawberries. He was so focused on observing her that he was startled when Principal Jenkins spoke from behind him.  

“So, Mr. Allan, what do you do?”  

Jen cut her eyes over to him with a mischievous, though sympathetic, smile and he bit back a sigh. Better make nice with the boss; might win him a few brownie points with his date.

  “I’m, uh, I’m a mechanic at Nick’s Garage,” he answered, wondering at the sudden pink blush that rose into Jen’s face. Was she embarrassed by that?  

“Really,” Principal Jenkins commented with interest. “Maybe you could help me figure out what’s wrong with my car. Y’see, when I start it up in the mornings...”  

Wace only half-listened as she explained about what her car was doing, and Jen gave him a smile and a flirtatious wink, mouthing the words, “I’m just gonna go sit down,” and pointed to two empty chairs at the end of one of the long tables. He nodded his understanding and watched her as she sat down and immediately bit into a strawberry, the expression on her face giving away her delight with the fruit.  

He asked Lucy a couple of questions to clarify the car’s symptoms, stealing glances at Jen where she was sitting. He saw a man with sandy blond hair make his way toward her, only to be intercepted by Mrs. Coulson and cringed in sympathy for the guy. He told Principal Jenkins that it sounded like she had a problem with her fuel injector, and possibly a small oil leak, and she immediately got a worried look on her face.  

“How much would that cost to repair?” she asked.  

He shrugged and gave her a rough estimate, glancing over at his date again just in time to see the blond man, now sitting beside Jen, put a hand on her knee and lean in to say something to her. She frowned deeply and got up from the table, going over to the punch bowl.

When the man got up and followed her, Wace interrupted Lucy as politely as he could, saying, “Call Nick’s and tell ‘im what’s wrong and that Wace told ya ‘e could give ya a good deal on gettin’ it fixed.”  

He really was gonna get his ass in trouble if he kept giving people discounts, but he’d explain to Nick tomorrow. For now, he had other problems to attend to. With a quick, “Excuse me,” he strode over to the punch table where the blond man was now standing entirely too close to Jen, trying to strike up a conversation she didn’t appear interested in having.

  He came within hearing distance just in time to hear the man say, “....ditch that ignorant grease monkey you brought and --”

  “G’day,” Wace said loudly with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes as he set his plate down beside the punch bowl. He wanted his hands free in case it came to the point that he needed them. “I don’t think we’ve met. Name’s Wace.”

  He stuck out his hand politely, but the guy didn’t take it.  

“Sorry,” the guy said, obviously not. “I don’t shake hands.”

He held up his hands as if to prove how clean they were, and Wace dropped his to his side. Jen scowled viciously at the guy and stepped closer to Wace, taking on a possessive posture. He couldn’t deny that he liked the way she did that -- a little too much, maybe.  

Blatantly ignoring Wace’s presence and Jen’s body language, the guy reached out as if to touch Jen and she flinched back, hard. Wace’s hand shot out, grabbing the man’s wrist and bending back slightly, just enough to hurt a little.   “I don’t think you really wanna do that, mate,” he said harshly. “An’ what’s more, I don’t think _she_ wants ya ta do that.”  

He punctuated his words with one more sharp bend of his wrist before letting go, and the man gasped with pain. He opened his mouth as if to say something to Wace, but Jen stepped between them, fully facing Wace, one small hand coming to rest on his chest.  

“D’ya mind if we leave early?” she asked, loudly enough for the blond man to hear. “I’m feelin’ kinda tired. I’d like ta get outta here.”  

“I don’t mind at all,” Wace said. Turning, he jumped a little with surprise as she slipped her arm through his, pressing into his side.  

She cast a glance over her shoulder at the man and said coolly, “Excuse us. Have a nice evening,” as they walked away together.

As they passed through the door, Jen waved at Principal Jenkins, letting her know they were leaving.   She kept her arm in Wace’s all the way to the car, and he smiled tightly at her as he held the door open for her to slide in, only stealing a quick glance at the skin above her knees where her skirt rode up. She tugged on the material self-consciously, and he closed the door gently, walking around to get behind the wheel.  

“So, where to?” he asked casually. “Home?”  

She shook her head quickly. “Nah, ‘s too early for that. How ‘bout you pick somewhere? Anywhere’s fine.”

  Encouraged that she didn’t want to cut their evening short, Wace wracked his brain for somewhere they could go. While he thought, he undid the top three buttons on his shirt, sighing in relief at the relaxed feeling it brought. The sleeves were bothering him, too, and he unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled them up his forearms. She was watching him intently, and he gave her a sheepish glance.  

“Um, how about Charlie’s?”  

“The tavern?” she asked, and he nodded. “That’s fine. That’s great, actually.”  

He nodded and put the car in gear, hopeful at the way the evening was progressing but still nervous as hell about the whole thing. How long was it going to take for her to realize he wasn’t the kind of guy most girls wanted to bring home to Mum and Dad?   He glanced over at her, noticing how she was still tugging down the hem of her skirt and wishing she wouldn’t do that -- it just made him notice her legs more than he already did, and fuck, but she had great legs.  

Great everything, actually, and he thought that she was just so _pretty_ it hurt. He made up his mind right then that he was going to enjoy this as much as he could while it lasted, because he was fairly sure he wasn’t ever gonna find another girl like this one.  

He cleared his throat, determined to make conversation on the way to Charlie’s. “So what did ya do before ya came ta Erko?”

It was a lame question, but it was a start and he figured they could take it from there.

  “I was at university,” Jen smiled. “This is my first teachin’ job. I’m kinda excited, but a little nervous, too.”  

_‘University? Shit.’_

Somewhere in his mind, Wace had known that she had to have gone to university if she was a teacher, but hearing her say it so casually only reminded him exactly how much he wasn’t her type. He hadn’t even finished eighth year classes.  

“That’s nice, though,” he said, frustrated that the conversation wasn’t going as easily as he’d hoped. He wasn’t really sure what to say to her.  

“I hope so,” she shrugged, and he read tension all over her. A few short moments passed and she turned to watch his profile. “Thanks, by the way. For what you said to Cliff, I mean. I appreciate it.”

  “Cliff?” Wace asked, figuring she had to be referring to the grabby guy at the dinner. “That ‘is name?” He snorted. “Fuckin’ appropriate,” he muttered under his breath. “Made me wanna jump off one.”  

She giggled, and he tossed her a rakish grin, his eyes glinting with mischief. He saw that she relaxed, leaning back in her seat and letting her hands drift away from the hem of her skirt. He sighed quietly in relief as he took the familiar turns on the road towards the tavern.  

Once they were there, they got a seat in a booth against the far wall and ordered dinner, since their intended meal for the night had been so abruptly interrupted. She ordered a hamburger and a beer, and he had to duck his head to hide a smile. Maybe they weren’t so ill-matched after all, he thought as he ordered the same.  

The server brought their beers out first and Jen lifted her bottle to him in a toast. He clinked his against hers, raising his eyebrows as if to ask what they were toasting. She never said, only tilted her bottle back and took a long swallow. He took a sip of his own, watching her throat work, and smiled at her when she set her beer down.

“What were we toastin’?” he wanted to know.  

“Escaping,” she answered, a pink blush creeping into her cheeks, and he sat back, laughing.  

Their food came surprisingly fast, and they both started another beer halfway through their meal. He noticed she was drinking hers pretty quickly and wondered if she didn’t realize what she was doing or if she just held her alcohol well and knew it. Within a few short minutes, he found out it definitely wasn’t the second one.  

She was grinning entirely too much, leaning over the table toward him with a giddy laugh, and he couldn’t help but smile back at her as they talked about various things. Like the time before, none of their conversation ever managed to get into deep personal issues, but in the space of fifteen minutes, he knew her favorite color (blue), her least favorite beverage (gingerbeer - and there was another place they were compatible), and the fact that she preferred dogs to cats.

  In the middle of her third bottle of beer, she excused herself suddenly and got up to go to the ladies’ room. She was feeling the warmth of the alcohol, a light buzz in her brain, and knew she was tipsy. She didn’t mind; it had actually been intentional on her part. She’d noticed how nervous and self-conscious she was, and how tightly wound Wace was, and had wanted to ease up a little bit. A few beers, quickly consumed, should be able to accomplish that. She’d never been a heavy drinker, but she figured it was for a good cause.  

In the stall, she finally decided she’d had enough of the tiny hole in the toe of her stockings that was beginning to drive her insane and removed them, tucking them into her purse as she walked toward the sink. As she looked in the mirror after washing her hands, though, and saw the flush covering her skin and felt the heat in her face, she had to wonder if maybe she hadn’t overdone it with the drinking. Casting a nervous glance at the door of the restroom, she bit her lip and looked at herself in the mirror again.  

She combed her fingers through her hair to smooth it out, then pulled a tube of lipstick out of her purse and reapplied a light coat. There; she wasn’t looking worse for the wear at all. Another moment of hesitation, and trembling fingers reached for the buttons on her blouse. One, two, three -- wait, definitely too far. She re-buttoned the third one, then tugged on the silky material, making sure the skin of her chest was flatteringly displayed.  

She blushed and left the ladies’ room quickly, sliding into the booth across from Wace. He was nibbling the peanuts that were in the bowl on their table and his eyes widened slightly as they roamed over her, lingering where her shirt was newly gaping open.  

He finished his once-over and suddenly choked on the peanut he was eating. She reached out in concern, but he waved her off, coughing, shaking his head to signal that he was okay.  

Confused, she glanced down at herself to see what could have caused the reaction and felt blood rush to her face at the sight of a slight hint of her pantyhose peeking out of her purse. Apparently she hadn’t managed to tuck them completely away and now it looked like... well, like she had _plans_.

And while she could see herself definitely having “plans” for Wace and herself in the future, she wasn’t ready to go there just yet.  

“Oh, um - there was a hole - in the, in the toe - oh, fuck, nevermind,” she blurted, tipping her beer up quickly, and Wace couldn’t help but laugh.  

“You might wanna slow down on the beer,” he suggested gently, and she gave him a dark look as she turned the bottle up again, deliberately.

She reached over and tucked the pantyhose into her purse, her expression daring him to make something of it.   He ducked his head to hide the grin that was playing across his mouth. She was so obviously drunk it was already past funny, but he had to fight off a little concern. He’d seen girls -- some of them very nice girls -- do things they didn’t mean to do under the influence of alcohol. It hadn’t taken him long to learn that drunkenness was an invitation meant to be ignored.  

He didn’t want to ignore Jen; he didn’t think he’d be very good at it at all.  

While he was busy trying to figure out a way to keep her from becoming any more inebriated than she already was, her hand stole across the table and brushed over his, her delicate little fingers running over his knuckles. He drew in a sharp breath, his head coming up to look at her in surprise.

  She wasn’t looking at him, but was watching their hands as she continued to touch him softly. Finally, she turned his hand over, palm up, and rested hers in it. “You have beautiful hands,” she said quietly, intense concentration in her expression. “So nice.”

  He cleared his throat, feeling heat rush through his body at her innocent touch.

  “No wonder she was flirting with you,” she sighed, and his forehead creased in confusion.  

“Who?”  

“Principal Jenkins,” she answered, a vague note of sourness in her voice. “Can’t imagine... flirtin’ with my date!”  

Wace felt his face flush as he shrugged carefully. “Well, I wasn’t flirtin’ back.”

He’d known Lucy Jenkins had been flirting with him -- he wasn’t stupid. Women hit on him all the time. They just never stuck around, and that usually didn’t bother him very much. This time, though, he was hoping things would be different with the woman sitting across from him.

  Jen turned a sunny smile on him at his sincere reassurance, her fingers curling around his and then lacing between them. “I’m glad,” she confessed softly and his heart gave a strange little jump.  

Abruptly, he grabbed his beer with his free hand and drained the rest of it very quickly. Setting it down on the table, he kept his eyes focused on their empty plates that the server hadn’t yet cleared away.  

“Wace,” Jen called softly, and he met her gaze.

What he saw there stole his breath and he reminded himself insistently, _‘She’s tipsy - she don’t know what she’s doin’.’_

“Take me home?”  

His eyes closed briefly at the unintentional implications in her words and nodded. “Sure,” he said, gently disentangling his hand from hers and reaching for his wallet.  

“No, wait,” she protested, going for her purse. “Lemme pay this time. I dragged you all the way to that dinner for nothin’ --”  

“No, I got it,” Wace insisted, having to consciously tone down the hardness of his tone.

With an apologetic half-smile, he lightened with a concerted effort. “We don’t need you pullin’ out yer knickers for all ta see, now do we?”  

A hot blush rose up in her face and she grinned sheepishly, shaking her head. “All right,” she chuckled. “But next time...”

  “Next time is next time,” Wace muttered as he pulled out enough money to cover their bill and laid it on the table, although he couldn’t help smiling to himself at the fact that she had so casually assumed there would be a next time.  

 _‘She’s drunk, mate,’_ a voice inside his head reasoned. _‘Don’t get happy ‘til she says it sober.’_  

He stood from the booth, holding out his hand to give Jen something to steady herself on -- he hadn’t seen her try to walk since she’d finished that third beer, and he wasn’t in the mood to take many chances. To his surprise, she didn’t let go of his hand after she was standing, instead twining her fingers through his and leaning into him slightly.   Outside the pub, they paused at the car and Wace shook his head.

“How far is it back to your house?”  

“Not too far, I don’t think,” Jen answered, and she seemed fairly clear. “Why?”  

“I’m thinkin’ we should walk. Don’t wanna chance drivin’.”

  Her eyes found his face and she smiled broadly.

“Good call,” she nodded, and he found himself warming with her approval. “We’ll walk.”  

And walk they did, though ‘stroll’ might have been a more accurate term, as neither of them seemed in much of a hurry to get to their destination, content to simply be with each other in the pleasant evening. Jen kept her hand in his the entire way, occasionally shifting her hold or playing with his fingers, and as they went along, he could tell the alcohol was wearing off relatively quickly and was grateful, because he wasn’t sure how capable he was of ignoring anything she did.

  Even with their leisurely pace, it seemed entirely too short a trip before they were at her door, and their quiet conversation faltered and stopped as they stood on her porch. She still hadn’t let go of his hand, and he wasn’t in a hurry to make her do so. He let his fingertips play gently across her palm and she sucked in a breath, her eyelids fluttering gently.  

Emboldened, he brought his other hand up to her face and pushed his fingers into her hair, caressing her scalp gently. She sighed in pleasure, her eyes falling closed and her lips parting softly. Before he could reason himself out of it, he leaned in and brushed his mouth across hers fleetingly.  

She whimpered a little and tugged on his hand, pulling him back towards her. She opened her eyes, gazing at him through her eyelashes, and whispered his name. “Please?” she murmured, and fire shot through him.  

“Please, what?” he rasped hoarsely, wanting her verbal confirmation before he acted on the impulse that was trembling in his veins.  

“Kiss me,” she sighed, bringing her face close to his again.  

He obliged, pressing his lips against hers once, then again, and on the third time, she opened to him with a heady sigh, bringing a hand up to hold him in place, although he didn’t need much more convincing at that point.  

The first awkwardly eager brush of tongues wrung an embarrassingly needy sound from his throat, and she responded in kind. It took a few moments to get it exactly right, but he didn’t so much mind the graceless explorations. She took a step into him and he let go of her hand, his arm automatically going around her waist to pull her in closer.  

She moaned her approval and pressed against him and he broke away from the kiss with a ragged sigh, dropping his head to her shoulder.   

“Wow,” she breathed into his ear, a slight giggle in her voice, and he could only nod as her hands stroked over his hair and shoulders.

He lifted his head, his eyes finding hers before he kissed her again.   This time, it was a little smoother; they found their choreography much more quickly, and her hand clutched in his hair. When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard, and he had to force himself to take a half step away before he took this too far. He wasn’t sure how much alcohol was still in her system and he wasn’t going to take a chance on dragging her into something she’d regret in the morning and ruining this before it really got started.  

“G’night, Jenny,” he said warmly, his eyes roaming her face.

  She leaned up and captured his lips again briefly, sighing as she tasted him leisurely before dropping away.

“G’night, Wace,” she answered, almost shyly, and he couldn’t help stealing one last kiss, stepping back abruptly before their arms could twine around each other again.

  He turned and walked down the three steps to the sidewalk, then turned back to her eagerly when she called his name.   

She stepped onto the second stair, reaching for him and pulling him toward her. Several moments later, when they came up for air, she said breathlessly, “Call me,” and he nodded dazedly.

“Promise?” she insisted, and he brushed his lips tenderly over her cheek, just below her eye.  

“I promise,” he said sincerely, and she smiled brilliantly at him, backing away onto the porch and leaning against her door as he began walking down the sidewalk, matching grins plastered on both their faces.  


	5. Rummage Through Memories

Blindly, her eyes still focused on John Noel’s first alphabet quiz and trying to decide if his green crayon line was meant to go from the A to the Apple or to the Dinosaur that it wrapped around twice, Jen reached for the ringing phone and answered automatically.

  “Hello?”  

“Jennifer? This is Debra Grayce, from Erskineville Public.”  

“Dr. Grayce! Of course. How are you?” She put down her red pen and pushed away from the table slightly, removing herself from the distraction of John’s creative line-drawing.  

“Please, call me Deb. I hope you don’t mind, I was actually ringing to ask you something of a personal question.”  

Jen paused for a moment in surprise, but she was a little acquainted with Debra and knew that the other woman was kind and considerate, and probably wouldn’t be rude about her question, no matter how personal it was.  

“All right, Deb. What is it?”

  “I’m sorry for asking, but, was that Wace Allan you were with at the dinner last night? I didn’t get a chance to talk to you, you left so quickly and I arrived late, but...”  

“Yes, it was,” Jen answered slowly, suddenly unsure of where this was going.  

Debra must have heard the wariness in her tone, because she hesitated for a moment before saying, “I remember when he was in school; he was such a bright kid, but...” She cut herself off with a sigh. “I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t...”  

“No, it’s okay,” Jen said quickly, feeling a little guilty at the thought that she was sort of going behind Wace’s back but eager to know anything she could about the man.   

“Well, I always liked him. He was... like I said, he was bright, but it was more than that, in a way. You could look at him and tell he was just _different_ , somehow. He was quieter than the other boys his age, more mature. Of course, that could have had something to do with the fact that he _had_ to grow up fast.”  

“What do you mean?” Jen asked quietly, hoping Debra would continue sharing her information.

  “You know, the system has changed so much since then, but back when he was in school, when I was just starting out there, we didn’t have many resources when it came to investigating suspicions of domestic trouble. Basically, we were told to ignore it; it wasn’t our problem.”

  “That’s terrible,” Jen sympathized, but there was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. _Domestic trouble_ was not a phrase she wanted to hear associated with the young man she was rapidly becoming so fond of; her stomach twisted at the very thought of anyone laying their hands on him in a harmful way. “But what does that have to do with Wace?”  

Again, Debra hesitated before she continued, “It was only a suspicion of mine, really, but there was this one day...”  

*** 

 “Good afternoon, Mr. Allan.”

  “G’day, Mr. Young.” Wace looked up at the principal as the man came into the room, leaning his hip against his desk and crossing his arms over his chest.

  “I hear Mrs. Coulson sent you down here for cheating on her examination.”  

“Yes, sir,” Wace answered evenly, without blinking.  

Mr. Young seemed to be studying Wace’s face intently, and he finally cleared his throat, turning to shuffle a few papers on his desk. “Listen, Wace, I’m actually a little busy today. Would you mind if I let Miss Lamb get to the bottom of this for me?”  

Wace shook his head, indicating that he didn’t mind. Miss Lamb was the counselor for the school, and he had liked her very much on the few occasions he’d talked to her. She was kind and warm and very pretty, fresh out of university, the kind of teacher tailor-made for a schoolboy’s imagination.

  Mr. Young wrote a note on a yellow slip of paper then tore it off, handing it to Wace. “Give this to Miss Lamb. She’ll talk to you right away.”  

Wace nodded and folded the paper carefully, sliding it into the pocket of his denims before saying a soft goodbye to the principal and walking down the hall towards Miss Lamb’s tiny office. He watched his feet as he walked, slumping his shoulders. He was starting to get too tall for his clothes; he would need new ones soon. His shirt was beginning to feel tight across his shoulders, and his pants were showing the barest hint of his socks above his shoes.  

A soft voice called his name in a friendly hello, and he looked up, giving a small smile and wave to Holly Thornton as she walked by with her friends, the rest of the cheerleading squad. The other girls began jostling her, whispering behind their hands with horrified looks on their faces, and Holly frowned at them before calling out warmly, “See ya ‘round, Wace!”  

“See ya,” he mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets. Holly thought he was cute, he knew, but her friends would make his life hell if he actually tried to do anything about it.   

He arrived at Miss Lamb’s office and ducked inside with a quick knock on the doorframe. Miss Lamb looked up from where she was reading something at her desk, several strands of her auburn hair falling from her upswept hairdo and into her eyes.

  She took off her reading glasses and brushed the hair away from her face, smiling openly at him. “Hello, Wace,” she said warmly. “What are you here for?”

  “Mr. Young sent me in,” Wace mumbled, pulling the paper out of his pocket and thrusting it at her.

  She took it and gestured for him to have a seat as she read it. He watched lines appear on her forehead before they were deliberately smoothed away and she folded the note, placing it on her desk with several other papers.  

“Well, it seems you’ve been accused of cheating on an examination, Wace,” she started, and he nodded. “What do you have to say to that?”  

He shrugged. “Didn’t do it.”

  She nodded thoughtfully, then asked, “Do you know why Mrs. Coulson would accuse you of cheating if you didn’t?”  

He shrugged again. “Did real good on the test, I guess, and ain’t been to class in awhile.” He fiddled with the cuff on his sleeve, toying with the button. “I’m just good at math, though. Knew how to do the problems.”  

Miss Lamb nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I believe you did score very high on the placement exams last year, now that I think about it. And your attendance has been down lately, I’ve noticed. Why is that?”

  He lifted one shoulder with awkward casualness, his eyes skittering away from her, and her heart ached to see it. It wasn’t the hardened, callous nonchalance of someone who had brushed off pain all their lives, but he was already too good at the act for a twelve-year-old boy. She shuddered inwardly at the thought that, by the time he was a grown man, it would be as natural as breathing.

  “Just ain’t felt like comin’.”

  She nodded again, still watching him carefully. “I see.”

She made a few notations on a piece of paper, then looked up at Wace and smiled. “I think you’re telling the truth, Wace. Mrs. Coulson’s class should be over by now; you may go to your next period.”  

He stood, tension evident in his body, though he was obviously trying to hide it. “Thanks,” he muttered, and she watched him with an inscrutable expression.

  “Wace? May I ask you a question?”  

He turned back toward her from where he’d been about to walk out the door and nodded his consent. “Sure, Miss Lamb.”  

“How did you get that bruise on your eye?”  

The question was neutral, even innocent-sounding, but she saw every muscle in his body tighten and a light tick in his jaw. Such big emotions for such a young boy...  

“My brother,” he finally said, choking on the word. “Bark an’ me got inta a fight few days back; he landed a good one on me. Got a mean left hook on ‘im.”

  She smiled warmly at him and said, “Thank you, Wace. Enjoy the rest of your day, and try to stay out of trouble.”

  He grinned rakishly, and she caught a glimpse of the heartbreaker she was sure he would become. “Aw, Miss Lamb, boy can’t have no fun if he don’ get in a little trouble.”  

She sat back in her chair, one eyebrow lifting at his mild flirtation. “Is that so,” she replied, doing her best to keep a straight face, though she wanted to laugh. “Well, just don’t let anyone find out about it then.”  

He nodded in acknowledgment, saying quickly, “I don’ make a habit of lettin’ folks know the trouble I get in,” before he was gone.

  Debra Lamb sighed deeply and looked down at the scribbled notes she’d made while Wace was in the office.  

_Nervous Hiding something **Abuse??**_

She furrowed her brow, knowing that she’d be up against some serious opposition if she brought her theory in front of the school board or anyone. Child abuse wasn’t something that people were willing to admit happened much, but she’d seen the studies, she knew the statistics. Just because domestic violence wasn’t talked about didn’t mean it didn’t happen. She should know.  

Sighing, she pushed away from her desk and left her office, locking it behind her with a sign that said she’d be back shortly, and walked down the hall toward the elementary wing. She stopped outside the open door of Miranda Darryl’s third year class, pausing to listen to what was going on.  

Apparently, they were having reading and study time, which was perfect for the interruption she needed to make. She rapped lightly on the door frame, alerting the teacher to her presence.  

Miranda stood up from her desk and came over to the door, close enough that they could talk without disturbing the students.  “Can I help you, Miss Lamb?” she asked politely, and Debra nodded.  

“Is Barclay Allan in your class? I need to see him for a moment.”  

Concern flickered across Miranda’s face and she looked over her shoulder at her students. “Yeah, he is. Is something wrong?”

  Debra shook her head, choosing not to try to get into anything just then. “No, just need to ask him about something his brother said.”  

“Wace?” Miranda asked, her face darkening. “You watch out for that boy, Deb,” she cautioned. “He’s trouble.”  

“Trouble? He seems nice enough to me. A little unrefined, maybe, but...”

  Miranda shook her head. “You haven’t been here long enough to know, but I’ll tell you. Wace is a nice kid, mostly, good student. Smart. He blazed through his placement tests and barely lifted a finger. But he lacks commitment, dedication -- and lately he’s been hanging out with some of the older boys, the real troublemakers. Tierney Blair and that Copeland boy. He’s not gonna turn out well, you mark my words. His father never amounted to much, either.”  

Debra frowned fiercely at her colleague, her eyes flashing. She desperately wanted to give the older woman a piece of her mind, but bit her tongue, saying only, “I’ll thank you not to make those statements in front of either of the Allan children -- or me, ever again. I’m a counselor, Ms. Darryl; it’s my job to not think of any child as ‘hopeless.’ Now, if you can spare him for a moment, I’d like to speak to Barclay.”

  Slightly taken aback, Miranda nodded, then retreated to the classroom, going over to the small, fair-haired boy on the row farthest from the door, getting his attention quietly and speaking softly to him. Debra saw him look up, his blue eyes standing out clearly in his thin face, and nod. With no hesitation, he closed the book he was reading and stood, following Miranda’s pointing finger to the door where Debra stood, waiting for him with a friendly smile.  

“Hello, Barclay,” she said warmly, though quietly, as she put a guiding hand on his shoulder and steered him down the hall a bit so her conversation wouldn’t disturb Miranda’s class.  

“Hi, Miss Lamb,” Barky responded easily, curiosity evident in his face as to why he’d been called out of class. “Am I in trouble?”

  “No, not at all,” she assured him quickly. “I just needed to ask you a couple of questions. Is that okay?”  

He nodded, and she smiled reassuringly at him. “Which hand do you write with?”

  “This one,” he responded instantly, holding up his right hand.

  “Uh-huh. Do you mind if I have a look at your hands?”  

He held them out trustingly, and she took them gently in hers, turning them over. The pale skin was unblemished, with no sign of the scraping or bruising that she would expect from the kind of force that would leave such a welt on Wace’s eye.

  “Thank you, Barclay. That’s all I needed.”   

He tilted his head, confusion evident in his expression. “Why?”  

She smiled, shaking her head a little. “I just needed to settle something in my own mind; it’s all right.”

He nodded, seeming to take her explanation at face value, and turned to go back into the classroom.

  “Barclay,” she called softly, and he paused, facing her.  

“Yes, Miss Lamb?”  

“How are things at home?” She asked it warmly, as if it were a simply normal question that one friend was asking another on a social call, but she saw him freeze, panic sweeping into his eyes.  

“Everything’s fine,” he answered stiltedly, and she thought he sounded very much like a child struggling to remember his lines for a school play. “Dad’s workin’ a lot, and Mum’s not feelin’ so good, so me an’ Wace are by ourselves a lot, but that’s okay. He looks after me.”   

She could tell that parts of that statement were the truth and tried to pry a little deeper.  

“I bet your Dad’s really tired a lot, isn’t he?” she asked, and he nodded cautiously. “Does he ever get mad and yell or hurt people?”  

She saw the second she’d gone too far, when his expression closed down and he clamped his lips into a thin line, shaking his head. Sighing, she decided to quit before she pushed too far and ended up doing more damage. He’d probably been told not to say anything -- whether by his father, mother, or brother, she didn’t know, but from what she knew of his personality, he wasn’t the type of kid to hold anything back.

Unlike Wace. She didn’t think the older Allan boy would tell anything unless he thought you needed to know, but from what she’d seen of the younger one, he’d tell you everything that came into his mind, even the things you could care less about.  

With a small smile, she touched Barky lightly on the shoulder and nodded. “Okay, Barclay. You can go back to class now. Thank you.”  

“You’re welcome, Miss Lamb,” he said with an easy, cheerful smile as he returned to the classroom.

Debra caught Miranda’s eye and waved, signaling that she was done with her student, and nodded in goodbye. Miranda returned the nod and Debra took the walk back to her office slowly, pondering what to do about her suspicions.  

All she had were hunches and circumstantial evidence, and the board wasn’t going to want to get involved on that little proof. She supposed she would just sit back and watch and wait for something to happen.

  ***

  “I’ve always regretted not taking it to the board,” Debra sighed. “I don’t know for certain what happened, but it wasn’t long after that that their mother left and Wace dropped out of school. I saw him once or twice around town, but never felt that I could approach him. I’ve wondered how he was doing.”

  Hesitantly, Jen decided she would ease as much of Deb’s worry as she could. “Well, last night was only our second date, so I can’t tell you much, but I can assure you he didn’t turn out to amount to nothing. He’s still the way you described him -- intelligent in an unconventional sort of way. You just know he’s some kind of brilliant.”  

“I’m glad you’ve gotten to know him a little, Jennifer. He’s... well, I think he’s largely overlooked and underappreciated.”

  “I don’t know how,” Jen answered honestly. “I don’t see how anyone could overlook him.”  

She could hear the smile in Debra’s voice as the older woman said warmly, “No, once you really see him, it’s impossible to ignore him, isn’t it?”

  “That’s a good way of putting it,” Jen agreed. “I don’t think I could forget about him if I tried.”

  This time, Deb’s pause didn’t sound so anxious, and her voice when she spoke again held a distinct note of fondness. “I hope you never try.”  


	6. You Are The Best Kind Of Dreadful I've Ever Been A Part Of

“Where ya goin’?”  

Wace stopped at the door, his hand on the handle, and squeezed his eyes shut. _‘Dammit, keep walkin’... ya didn’t hear ‘im...’_

“Dammit, son,” the voice bellowed again and Wace took exactly three deep breaths through his nose, trying to quiet the tremors inside. He didn’t look close enough to tell whether they were anger or fear or hate... or all in one.

“Out,” he answered shortly, through clenched teeth, despite his determination to pretend like he hadn’t heard.  

“Out _where_?”

“Just... _out_ , Dad,” Wace called back.

“You fuckin’ ‘er yet?”   

Wace took two steps forward angrily, determined to just go, just leave, ignore that intrusive question and walk out the door, but some invisible force held him in place and forced a growled “No” past his locked jaw.  

“Wha’s takin’ ya so long, boy? She wearin’ a chastity belt?”

A loud, ribald laugh followed the question and Wace shook his head, wondering why the hell he couldn’t just cut this short and _leave_ , already.  

“Bye, Dad,” he said, and had to stop himself from running out of the house before his dad could get in another word, instead consciously measuring his strides as he walked to the car. He did his best to put it all out of his mind as he was driving, but before he knew it, he was on Jen’s street.

Because the drive over hadn’t calmed his nerves yet, he waited in his seat, out by the curb in front of her house, not wanting to bring his temper to her and spoil the night before it began. Although, he had a suspicious feeling that his bad mood just might start to disappear once he laid his eyes on her.   

Taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly, he tapped the palms of his hands on the steering wheel, then reached for the door handle. But before he could step out of the car, he saw Jen walking down the sidewalk toward him, already looking like she was ready to hit the road.   

“Hey there,” she called, striding easily toward the end of her walk. “Peeked out m’ window and I saw ya sittin’ out here.”

Wace climbed out of the car, a smile threatening at each corner of his mouth as she neared him. “‘ey,” he answered back, taking the opportunity to look her over before she was close enough to see his eyes, even under the cover of the dusky, evening sky.

He’d told her to dress casual when he’d called, hoping beyond hopes that her idea of the word included another one of those skirts she’d worn last time, but no dice. Though, he had to admit she looked just as tempting in the khaki trousers and maroon, long-sleeved shirt as well.   

“So - are you gonna tell me where we’re goin’ yet?” she asked flirtatiously, stopping just inches in front of him.

He bit his lip for a split second then leaned down to kiss her quickly on the corner of the mouth. “It’s a surprise,” he breathed in her ear before pulling back, giving her a wink.   

Jen just rolled her eyes and shook her head good-naturedly, though her eyes glowed and her cheeks pinked slightly. “Men and their surprises,” she joked as she meandered around the back of the car.  

Wace followed behind her, pulling the passenger door open for her as he had the last time and made his way completely around the vehicle and climbed back into the driver’s seat. The drive into town was a relatively short one, but they’d already found a few things to talk about - how well both of their days went, a teacher’s meeting she’d had at school the day before, how he thought that he was going to have to make a run into the city tomorrow afternoon.   

As he pulled onto the main street, her eyes lit up in curiosity at the towering buildings surrounding them. They were in the older part of the city, one that she hadn’t given herself thorough time to explore since she’d moved to Erskineville. It was like stepping into a time capsule with the worn Victorian-style architecture and tiny storefronts dotting the sidewalks.   For the most part, all of the shops looked closed, their lights off and curtains drawn, but there were still a few glowing with anticipation of a couple more customers.   

As they stepped out of the car, Wace nodded his head across the street to a little tucked-away diner that Jen had spotted as they were pulling into their parking space. “I know it’s not really much ta look at, but I swear it’s got the best burgers in town,” he offered, coming around to wait by the trunk of the car.   

Jen grinned, excited that he’d think to take her to a place like this instead of trying to impress her with some fancy restaurant. It was definitely a burst of fresh air for her. She’d given him free reign of choosing where they’d go and he wanted to bring her here - where he was comfortable.  As they crossed the relatively empty street, she let her hand wander down to his with a sheepish smile, ignoring his brief look of surprise when she linked their fingers together.

In all her years, she could probably count on both hands the number of times she’d visited a place like the one she was standing in, but knew immediately that she’d fallen in love with it. The slightly yellowed walls were covered with pictures - both framed and tacked on, black-and-white and color - with just about anything from old magazine covers to three small children holding a submarine sandwich as long as they were tall. The diner was almost empty, save for a couple seated in the back who looked like they were enjoying the privacy the low-light offered there and Wace motioned for her to take a seat at one of the tiny front booths, sliding into the seat across from her.   

She thought about reading the menu - which was tacked onto the wall above the napkins and salt and pepper - but decided against it when she saw him fold his hands together on the table. “So,” she started, smiling widely, “How about you tell me what ta order since it’s obvious you like this place. You said somethin’ about the burgers?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, pointing to a gaudily pasted on picture of the chili and cheese chips on the menu. “Those’re pretty good, too - and they give you a whole lot of ‘em.”  

“All right then - I guess it’s settled.”

Wace signaled to the waiter on duty and Jen was amused when the young boy just leaned across the counter he was behind, pen waiting above his pad of paper, instead of coming over to their table. “Can we get a order of the house chips and two burgers?”

“What ta drink?” he asked, scribbling down what was given of the order onto his notebook.

“Water,” Jen supplied, and Wace ordered an unsweetened tea.

“So,” she started after the waiter had disappeared into the kitchen, “This is your kind of place?” 

He shrugged his shoulders, suddenly feeling a bit foolish for bringing her there. She was probably used to a lot nicer places, but he remembered how she’d ordered the same thing as him at the tavern and just assumed that maybe she’d like to come there as well. “I guess - I mean, I don’ eat out a whole lot, but I usedta come ‘ere when I was a kid and I’ve just kinda stuck with it ever since.”  

He watched nervously as her soft, green eyes flitted about the diner, seeming to take in everything, leaving no detail unexplored, and felt the worry slip away when he saw a smile ease onto her face.

“I love it here - thanks for bringin’ me,” she said honestly, letting her gaze fall back to him.  

“Yeah?” he asked, not quite sure how, coming from a girl like her, that was possible.

He still didn’t know what in the heck he was doing with her, why he was even entertaining the thought that he might want something more than just a fling. Then again, he paused, it wasn’t like he’d ever thought about any other girl he’d been with like this. There was something about Jen that was definitely...different. Maybe everything else would be different, too.  

Their food came quickly, courtesy of it being the only thing on the burners, and they ate, immersing themselves in the same aimless chatter that they’d had on the way over.   

“Have you always lived here?” she asked, popping a cheese-coated potato slice into her mouth.  

“Yeah, was born ‘ere,” he answered slowly, not really eager to share much of his family life with her, but supposing it was inevitable.  

“It’s funny how it’s so close to the city, but it’s still...I dunno, not really _stuck_ because I think that makes it sound kinda bad, ya know? And I don’t think it is.”  

He nodded, relieved that she’d gone on a completely different track than he was expecting. “Yeah. Kinda like watchin’ an old show on the telly and seein’ how ev’rything use’ta be.”  

“Like that,” she smiled, happy that her rambling on had made at least some sense to him. “Quaint,” she said suddenly as the word just came to her. “It’s a quaint little town.”  

Wace laughed, shaking his head slightly as he swallowed the last bite of his burger. “I dunno about that,” he disagreed mildly, a half-smile on his face. “Maybe some parts of it, but definitely not the whole thing.”  

“There’s a lot of it I haven’t seen yet, but I’d really like to get out one of these days and maybe just drive around an’ see it all.”  

Before she could explain any further, or Wace could offer to take her, they were interrupted by a loud shout of surprise from behind the counter.   

“It’s a little Allan!” came a throaty exclamation from the elderly gentleman slowly making his way over to their table.   

Jen couldn’t help but smile as she caught on to the old man’s obviously excited mood. Wace stood from the table with an easy grin and started to reach out and give the man a handshake, but as soon as they clasped hands he was pulled into an affectionate hug and received several loud claps on the back.   

“Look atcha,” he said proudly before he’d even taken a step back. Still holding on to Wace’s arms at the elbows, he gave him a good-once over through his thick, black, plastic-rimmed glasses and nodded his head, beaming away. “I can’t call ya ‘little’ anymore, now can I?” he asked as he finally let him go, but not without reaching up and giving him a light squeeze on the shoulder.   

Wace shook his head, laughing a little at the commotion the old man had caused. “You can call me anything ya want, Mr. Stivers,” he said candidly as he slid into the seat next to Jen, offering his seat up to the store’s owner.  

“Listen t’ya,” he joked as he took the seat with the grunt of a tired, worn body. “Always with the manners - even though ya completely ignore an old man when ‘e’s told ya for the past twenty years to call ‘im by ‘is given name,” he added, leaning in and shaking his finger at him in pure jest.   

“Habit, I guess,” Wace supplied with a shrug, as he gestured to the amused woman next to him. “Uh, this is Jen Taylor, Mr. Stivers. She’s kinda new in town. Jen, this is Eddy Stivers. He owns the diner.”  

“Pleased ta make your acquaintance, Miss Taylor,” he offered up politely as he reached out and took her hand with a light shake. “Did you enjoy your dinner?”  

“Oh, yes, very much - thank you,” she answering, nodding her head toward her now-empty plate. “The burger was delicious. Wace wasn’t kidding when ‘e said you served the best ones in town.”  

Mr. Stivers leaned back in his seat, a shamelessly proud smile breaking loose on his face. “Well, little Womby ‘ere never was one ta lie, so I s’ppose that’s true.”  

“Womby?” Jen questioned, casting a curious glance to the side, only to see Wace close his eyes, a faint smile gracing his lips as he shook his head.  

“Have you gotta tell that story ta _ev_ ’ryone that walks through those doors?” he asked, embarrassment evident on his tone.   

“Oh, so I see ya haven’t told the little lady about your adventures with Blinky Bill yet, have ya?” the old man teased, not even waiting for an answer before he turned his attention back to Jen. “You’re gonna love this one,” he explained, amusement coloring every word, as if it wasn’t obvious enough from his grinning face.  

Jen looked back over to Wace, who’d since relaxed into the booth, the smile finally winning the battle for his mouth, and she felt a warmth rush over her as his arm came up around her to rest on top of the booth cushion.  

“Ya see,” the old man started, taking her attention back as he began to tell her the story. “When Womby ‘ere was little, ‘im and ‘is brother use’ta come in ‘ere ev’ry other Saturday when they’d get their allowances and spend it on ice cream. Well,” he corrected himself, pointing a gnarled, old finger in Wace’s direction, “this one’d get a cone and pocket the rest of ‘is change, but the little one - he’d get ‘imself a sundae or some sort of big treat that ‘e never could finish, but took up all of ‘is money.”  

Mr. Stivers settled back, pausing a moment for a chuckle as he recalled the next part of his well-told story. “I remember it just like it was yesterday - every _single_ time, Womby ‘ere would tell ‘im ta get somethin’ smaller because he’d never finish it, but ev’ry time that little boy would just shake ‘is head and order the biggest thing ‘e could get.  

“And ‘e’d always have a book with ‘im - the little one. Always ‘ave ‘is nose buried in it, gettin’ the pages all stickied up with the ice cream drippin’ all over ‘em and gummin’ ‘em together. I remember this one day in particular, they were sittin’ in that booth right there,” he pointed, indicating the table a few feet to their left, “and they got ta arguin’ about somethin’, like they usually did - I don’ even remember what it was. Do you remember what it was?” he asked, continuing on when Wace just shook his head.   

“So they were arguin’ about somethin’ or another and all of a sudden that little rascal jumps out of ‘is seat an’ goes ‘I’m not listenin’ ta you tell me what ta do anymore! You’re just as mean as old Mister Womby!’ and ‘e pointed in the book at somethin’ and just stormed outta ‘ere, leavin’ ‘is ice cream and ‘is trash ev’rywhere. And I remember,” he chuckled, fighting to get the rest of the story out before he lost it, “I remember lookin’over the counter at ‘im and goin’ ‘Well, _Mister Womby_ , what’ve ya got ta say for yourself?’ and ‘e just looks up at me, scowlin’ as fierce as anythin’ I’d ever seen before and says ‘At least Mister Womby cleans up ‘is messes!’”  

And with that, the old man collapsed into laughter, holding his rounded belly as he cackled away at the much-told punch line as if it were the first time he’d ever said it. Jen covered her mouth as she laughed, sneaking a look over to Wace, who was still sitting with his arm draped over the booth and looked like he was doing his best not to join in, but was failing miserably at it.   

She brought her hand away from her face and reached up to grasp his where it was dangling loosely behind her. She scooted in a little closer to him and to her infinite delight, he inched in as well, gripping her shoulder lightly as her hand fell away.   

Wiping a tear out of his eyes, Mr. Stivers let his glasses settle back onto his nose and he took a deep breath, finally calming down. “Those were back in the good old days though,” he continued on without missing a beat. “It’s seldom I ever see Mister Womby anymore.”  

“I come in ev’ry now and then,” Wace defended. “I just gotta make it quick if I’m on lunch break. B’sides, you’re always in the back fiddlin’ around with somethin’- why don’ you ever come out and see _me_?” he countered, enjoying carrying on with the old man.   

“Well, I must say I’m sorry for that,” Stivers apologized, his amusement seemingly boundless. “How ‘bout I make it up to ya? Ice cream on the house before I close up shop?” he offered, pushing himself out of the seat with the same grunt as when he’d sat.   

“Ya sure?” Wace asked, not wanting to be of any trouble, but he’d seen Jen’s eyes light up at the mention of ice cream.  

“Oh yeah - I got plenty of it sittin’ back ‘ere just waitin’ for somebody ta eat it,” the old man answered back as he slipped behind the counter.  

“Strawberry for me,” Jen piped up, biting her lip slightly as she cast a sheepish glance to Wace. “If-if ya have it, that is.”  

Stivers nodded, pointing at Wace for what he wanted, though he had a good feeling he already knew what it was.  

“Vanilla.”   

Snapping his fingers back up in delight, the old man disappeared into the kitchen.  

***  

“Wace? S’at you?”  

“No, Da, it’s Bark.”

Barky walked into the den and stood stiffly in the doorway, unacknowledged by his father who sat on the couch, surrounded by bottles, most of them empty. The one in his hand was still half-full, and his glazed eyes were fixed on the television screen.  

“Bugger,” the old man mumbled. “Fuckin’ no-gooder son o’ mine gone out all night with some bloody sheila, ain’t even dippin’ ‘is wick...”  

“Dad?” Barky asked, wondering what the hell he was talking about.  

“Wace,” his father snapped impatiently. “‘e’s out playin’ pansy to some --” he trailed off, gesturing as if he couldn’t think of the exact word he wanted. The alcohol was probably helping with that -- he’d be getting close to passing out soon, if he was at the stage where his speech was being affected.  

“Jen?” Barky supplied.   

“S’at ‘er name?” he asked sharply and Barky cursed under his breath.

Great. Wace hadn’t even told him Jen’s name.  

“Yeah. She’s real pretty,” Barky said lamely, hoping it was helpful.  

“You met ‘er?” his father demanded, and he grimaced.

This was just getting deeper.  

“No -- I mean, I’ve heard of ‘er -- ‘alf the blokes in Erko’d give their left nut to take ‘er out.”  

He snorted. “Your brother’s done give away both o’ ‘is.” A pause, and then, “Why? She got beer-flavored nipples or somethin’? It can’t be ‘cause she’s smart -- she’s goin’ out with that dickless son o’ mine.”  

“Da, you should be proud of Wace. She’s a real nice girl.”  

His dad interrupted almost before he finished speaking, spitting out, “ _Nice girl?_ Wace don’t fuckin’ need no _nice girl_. He an’ me, we ain’t nice material. _Nice_ girls don’ stay with blokes like us -- they fuck us ‘til we’d lay down an’ lick their shoes, lead us around with our dicks in their hand, then up an’ leave without a goddamn goodbye.”

He drained the rest of his beer and flung the bottle to the floor, flinching in surprise when it shattered. “Your mum was a _nice girl_ \-- the lazy, whorin’ bitch. Ya see where that got us.”  

***  

Jen sighed contentedly as she stepped out from under the awning over the sidewalk and gazed up into the deep, night sky. “It’s so nice out this ev’nin’,” she said absently as she wrapped her arms around herself and swayed softly back and forth.  

Wace came out of the diner right after her holding both dishes of ice cream in his hands and he set them on a nearby picnic table before he followed her out into the deserted street. “Yeah, it is,” he agreed, coming up behind her and lifting his head as well.   

She turned slightly as she caught his profile out of the corner of her eye and couldn’t help herself from staring at him a bit, just drinking in the sight of him. He didn’t seem to notice and that was fine with her as her eyes drifted over him, taking in every nuance, just as she’d done with the diner. She wanted to tell him that she thought he was beautiful, but thought it was too forward. Besides, she didn’t know how he’d react to being called that and decided to spare herself the disgrace of having him possibly laugh at her.   

“Ice cream’s gonna melt,” he said easily, turning suddenly and catching her gaze.   

She ducked her head, slightly embarrassed at having been caught, but taking note that he hadn’t exactly looked like he minded.   

He reached out and took her by the arm, leading her over to the picnic table where their ice cream sat waiting, slightly softened by the warm, night air. Wace sat in the middle of the bench, throwing one leg over the seat and then the other, smiling covertly when saw Jen take the empty space next to him instead of sitting across like he thought she would. He considered scooting over a bit for a moment to give her more room, but decided that he liked the feeling of her thigh rubbing so closely next to his.   

“Is this homemade? I mean, do they make it in the shop?” Jen asked after she’d tasted a few bites and decided that it was some of the best ice cream she’d ever had.   

Wace nodded, licking the back of his spoon before he used it to point toward the diner. “They make it in the back - got an old hand-pump they use ta mix ev’rything up.”  

“That’s so neat that places still do things like they used to. It’s _quaint_ ,” she added, leaning in with waggling eyebrows to tease him from the comment he’d made earlier.   

“I s’ppose,” he said dryly, cutting off another chunk of ice cream with his spoon and shoveling it into his mouth.  

“Oh, come on,” she pushed good-naturedly, leaning into him slightly as she spoke. “You just don’ wanna admit that you live in a quaint little town.”  

“No, it’s just that ‘quaint’ ice cream machines aren’t very fun when you hafta clean the bloody things out before you can go home,” he answered back, keeping his face straight and doing his best to feign annoyance.  

“Oh - did you work ‘ere?” she asked, oddly excited at the prospect.   

“Mmm-hmm, during one school break, I did,” he said, nodding as he brought his hand up to his mouth again.   

She watched intently, her eyes captured by his lips as they closed around the spoon and pulled off any trace of the vanilla treat before they started to curl up at the corners. For the second time that night she’d been caught staring, but dammit, she just couldn’t help it!   

“D’you want some o’ my ice cream?” he asked with a grin, still keeping his face directed forward as he dipped her out a bite.  

Turning slowly so he wouldn’t hit her with his elbow, he brought the spoon full of ice cream up to her mouth and eased it between her lips. He smiled when her eyes fell closed and the look of complete delight took over her face. “Good, ain’t it?”  

“It’s wonderful,” she said while nodding, her mouth still slightly full of the large bite she’d taken.

She finally swallowed it all and Wace found himself captivated by the way her tongue darted out to seize the last little bit that had gotten stuck on her upper lip.   

“Now you get ta try mine,” she offered, spooning him out a bite even as she spoke.   

He leaned in slightly, holding his mouth open for her and biting down lightly on the plastic spoon as she tried to pull it out. She gave it another tug, grinning stupidly at the amount of fun she was having with this man. He finally let it go after a few tries and more giggling from her, then, on impulse, reached out to grab her around the waist. She squealed, bending quickly and trying to squirm away from his tickling fingers, but he held her tight and didn’t stop until she was panting for breath.  

“You’re evil,” she said, still laughing, buzzing from the feel of his hands on her.   

Wace didn’t answer, just simply flashed her a devilish grin that seemed to do anything but invalidate her joking assessment of his character.  

Eddy came out of the diner a few moments later, pausing at their table to say goodbye, and the couple realized they hadn’t even noticed the other pair leave - they’d been too wrapped up in one another to bother. They exchanged farewells, Eddy leaving only on the promise that they’d come back and visit an old man some time and Jen said she’d have no problem with that. She thought she could sit and listen to the lively character tell his stories all night. After that, they sat in a comfortable silence, both finishing up the rest of their food and intent on stealing little brushes of skin here and there.   

“So...did you always acted like a grumpy, old wombat, or was that just a passing phase?” she mentioned casually as she dipped her spoon into the last chunk of her treat, referring to the story the old man had recounted earlier.  

Wace leaned over, bumping his shoulder lightly into hers. “How’d you know what ‘e was talkin’ about?”  

She laughed and shook her head. “I teach six-year-olds, _Womby_ \- I don’ think there’s a children’s book out there I ‘aven’t read yet.”  

He nodded slowly, amused that she found one of his childhood monikers so much fun to use. “I guess next time I’m gonna hafta hear about some embarrassing stories from your youth,” he said as he twisted his spoon around slowly in the soupy remains of his ice cream.  

There was silence for a moment, and while he hadn’t intended for her to burst out in laughter at his joke, he didn’t expect for there to be no response either. He stole a quick glance at her and saw that she’d set her spoon down in her bowl, seeming to abandon what was left of her snack. He cursed himself mentally, trying to think of what he’d said that made her upset, but before he could apologize she spoke.   

“About that,” she said slowly, pausing for what felt like an eternity before she said another word.   

“About...what?” Wace prompted, feeling the heaviness of the mood as it suddenly shifted from light-hearted to serious.   

“The next time,” she breathed, finally looking over at him, uncertainty filling her eyes.  

He felt his heart drop into his stomach at the thought of his happiness ending as abruptly as it had started. This was it - this was where she was gonna tell him that she didn’t want to see him anymore, that she’d had a great time with him so far, but that it was time to move on and she really, really hoped that they could be friends. The words played through his head like a broken record and even though he had never personally heard them directed at him, he’d been imagining that this moment would come from the first time that he’d kissed her goodnight.   

“I was really kinda hopin’ there’d be...a lot more of ‘em,” she said shyly, her eyes falling down to her lap at her confession.   

There. She’d said it, she’d made her feelings known and now the rest was up to him. Her heart was fluttering in her chest as she waited...and waited for him to say something, _anything_ in response. She had to, had to, _had_ to know how he felt.   

His mouth clamped shut with a dull ‘snap’ once he realized it had been hanging open for several moments. He’d had to stop himself from answering her with ‘I understand,’ because he already knew what she was going to say...and then she hadn’t.  

“Uh...” he faltered, feeling the sudden rush of euphoria filling his veins. “Yeah,” he blurted out, when he saw her eyes come back up to him, noticing the hurt glinting off of them. “Yeah, I’d love it. I mean...yeah.”

It felt like the only thing he could come up with, but judging by the smile that broke out on her face, he knew that it was the right thing to say.   

“Yeah?” she asked, stuck with the same sudden lack of vocabulary.   

Breaking the monotony, he nodded, his mouth fixed into a smile and feeling like it was the only thing he could do at the moment.   

Relieved beyond belief, Jen turned to face forward, her mind still reeling from how easy it had been. She’d been dreading saying anything to him, thinking that he seemed like the type that shied away from being ‘tied down’ to any one woman, but somewhere between the chili-cheese chips and sharing bites of ice cream, she’d realized that this was the man she needed to be with. Maybe not for the rest of her life, but at least as far ahead as she could imagine.  

“So,” Wace started suddenly, breaking her train of thoughts. “Does ‘is mean that uh...well,” he faltered, feeling foolish now for even bringing it up, but her open, honest stare urged him on. “I don’ think I’ve ever really had what you’d call a girlfriend before,” he confessed, looking away for a moment as he continued, “I was just gonna let ya know that...ya know, aheada time – case I mess up or somethin’.”  

Not knowing it was possible to actually melt inside before that moment, Jen reached over with both hands and rested them gently on the sides of his face, turning him so he was looking at her again. She kissed him softly on the mouth, pulling back after a few moments and smiling up at him. “I think you’re doin’ a pretty good job so far.”  

“Yeah?” he asked, and though the half-smirk he threw her was cocky, she saw the vulnerability behind the happiness in his face.  

Grinning back at him, she nodded, her eyes fluttering closed happily when he leaned forward and captured her mouth with his.  

***  

“You’re back.”  

Wace jumped at the unexpected voice, then relaxed slightly when Barky stepped out of the kitchen. “Yeah,” he muttered, fighting back a grin as he was overtaken by the memory of just how much that word had meant less than an hour before.  

“Dad’s asleep.”  

Those two words jolted him out of his dazed euphoria and a feel like icy water splashed through his gut as he remembered the conversation he’d had with his father before leaving to pick up Jen. The stupidly giddy feeling fluttered somewhere in his chest again at the thought of her -- his _girlfriend_.  

He nodded in response to Barky’s information, then yawned and muttered, “‘kay. Think I’ll do that m’self.”  

Barky nodded, then asked casually, almost disinterestedly, “How’d your date go?”  

Wace sent him a hard look, as if to ask how he knew where he’d been, then figured Barky must’ve overheard him on the phone earlier that week, finalizing the plans for the evening and shrugged. “Good.”

His lips twitched uncontrollably, no matter how hard he tried to keep a blank expression, and Barky’s eyebrow lifted in curiosity.  

“‘Good’?” he asked, amusement in his tone. “What’s ‘good’?”  

Shrugging again, this time less casually and with a slightly wider smile on his face, Wace muttered, “Uh, I guess - well, she’s my girlfriend.”  

Barky’s jaw literally dropped and Wace grinned in delight at his reaction. “Wha -- that’s great! How’d you do that?”  

“Fuck if I know, mate,” Wace answered truthfully, chuckling a little.  

“You musta slipped ‘er somethin’,” Barky decided, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Some kinda mind-alterin’drug. Coppa set ya up?”  

With a mock growl, Wace reached out and snagged his little brother around the neck with his arm, getting him in a head-lock quicker than Barky could figure out to duck and run. Holding him into his side, Wace laughed as Barky struggled ineffectually against him, his shoes scuffling on the floor as he did his best to get loose.  

“Uncle!” Barky cried finally, gasping for breath as Wace’s arm tightened around his neck. “I give up!”  

“Say it,” Wace commanded in a low voice near Barky’s ear, evil delight coloring his voice.  

“No!” Barky responded immediately, and Wace tightened his grip again.   

“Say it,” he repeated firmly.  

“ _Never_ ,” Barky insisted, his voice straining as he started to choke a little.

Wace freed one of his hands to lick his thumb, bringing it around to Barky’s exposed ear and dipping it inside.  

“Okay!” Barky yelped. “You’re a sexy man-beast and you can kick my ass any day of the week!”  

“Tha’s better,” Wace laughed, releasing his brother and stepping back to a safe distance before Barky could get the idea into his head to retaliate, but Barky was too busy scrubbing his ear in annoyance.  

“God, I fuckin’ hate it when you do that, man,” he grumbled, and Wace smirked triumphantly.  

Barky opened his mouth to make what Wace was certain was going to be a smart-ass comment, judging by the glint in his eyes, but they were suddenly interrupted by a slurring bellow from the bedroom down the hall.  

“Goddamn fuckin’ bastards! Quiet the fuck down b’fore I kick the shit outta ya!”  

The words settled over them like a heavy, iron blanket and they didn’t meet each other’s eyes, both of them shuddering inwardly at the threat and how much they knew he meant it.  

Wace caught Barky’s glance, nodding toward his own bedroom to let his little brother know he was going to bed. Barky nodded his understanding and gave Wace a perfunctory wave, both of them slipping off to their respective rooms on silent feet, closing their doors as softly as they could and hoping the man down the hall went back to sleep quickly.   

Wace hesitated for a moment inside his room, his hand lingering on the doorknob, wondering why he felt so naked and vulnerable at the lack of a lock on the door. He cast an anxious glance at the wooden chair at the foot of his bed, briefly toying with the idea of sliding it under the knob to keep the door closed, but shook his head at his own foolishness and stripped down to his boxers, sliding under the blanket on his bed and closing his eyes, fighting to ignore the feeling of uneasiness he didn’t understand.  

He jumped a little as he thought he heard footsteps in the hall and a metal clink, but relaxed when he realized it was just the old air conditioning unit rattling in the window. Frowning at his inexplicable nervousness, he focused his mind somewhere else and ended up on Jen, the way the taste of strawberry ice cream had lingered in her mouth, the soft moans she’d made as her arms twined around his neck, the easy way she’d leaned her head on his shoulder, nuzzling into him, and slipped her hand into his.  

Warmth suffused his body, starting in the pit of his stomach and winding up to his mouth and down to his toes, and he had the fleeting thought that any woman who could finally displace that cold stone heaviness he sometimes felt in the dead of night, even when she wasn’t in his arms, was worth keeping as long as she’d have him.  


	7. I Never Meant To Face This Looking Glass

“And that right there, that’s where I got inta my first fight.”

“Did you win?”

Wace gave her a disbelieving look. “‘Course I did.”

Jen laughed, the sound light in the stillness of the evening. “Dunno why I bothered asking.”

“Me neither,” Wace agreed, only half-joking as he turned back to driving. “Don’ make it a habit ta fight unless I know I can beat the guy.”

Reaching for his left hand on the wheel, Jen took it and let him steer with his right. She scooted closer to him on the bench seat, resting her head on his shoulder. “Would you fight for me?” she asked quietly, her body jostling as he swerved to miss a pothole.

“I would,” Wace answered solemnly.

Jen felt a small smile cover her lips at the thought – not of him fighting necessarily, but of him willing to put his neck out, for _her_. “What if ‘e was…twice your size? Had hands the size of a Cornish hen? Would you fight ‘im then?” she joked, but still wanting to hear his answer.

He put his arm around her shoulder, holding her close to his body. He could feel the lift of her arms against his ribs as she breathed. It was nice. “I’d hafta fight dirty,” he started, his voice low. “I’d punch ‘im in ‘is middle an’ then go for ‘is nose. And then….”

“What?” she asked, her voice equally soft.

“And then I’d kick ‘im in the balls and we’d hafta run our asses outta there,” he finished quickly, nearly laughing before he finished speaking.

Jen did him the courtesy of cracking up, her left arm coming to drape across his middle, squeezing him. “I hope I’m in _flats_ when we’re doing this escaping,” she argued. “Running for our lives in heels wouldn’t be any fun.”

“Yeah, but then I’d just throw ya over my shoulder.”

“Okay, Tarzan, as long as you promise.”

Still smiling at how ridiculously fun being with her was, he thumped his chest several times and gave her a short Tarzan jungle call. “Couldn’t leave my Jane behind.”

He steered the car through the sunset, under the train trestle, pointing to where he’d first met Coppa and Trunny, then on past the post office and newsstand, where he’d had his first job as a delivery boy.

“I always wanted ta do something like that,” she mused.

“Like what?”

“Some…I dunno, childhood job. I asked my mum once. She said ‘no’ and that was the end of the story.” She turned to face him, clucking her tongue as she rolled her eyes. “Taylor women didn’t take jobs.”

Wace’s eyebrows arched. “Oh, yeah? What uh…what do Taylor women do?”

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer – it would only further solidify just how different their worlds were from one another’s. A fact he wanted to keep locked away for as long as he could.

Sighing dramatically, Jen shifted in the seat and stared out the windscreen, stretching and stifling a yawn as she did so. “Oh, you know, running the household, having children, looking beautiful propped on the arms of their husbands, get their hair done and keep their nails looking nice. Hard work, it is.”

Wace nodded and struggled to keep his voice even. “Things like that, they don’ suit ya?”

“Heavens, no,” she replied quickly, sitting up a little higher in the seat as she leaned away from him. “It’s like…I’m worth more than that, ya know? I can do _more_ with my life. I mean, all those things, they’re nice, they’re comfortable and what have you, but that’s not, it’s _never_ been what I’ve wanted for my life. They just… _assume_ that everyone will fall in line to the fam’ly station.”

He chanced a look in her direction as he pulled the car alongside a curb. “Yeah, but…” he started slowly as he killed the engine, “there’s somethin’ ta be said for security.”

“You’re right,” she agreed, shaking her head at the same time. “Jesus, I prob’ly sound like some spoiled brat, poor little rich girl, but that’s not it. It’s never been like that. I just…I wanted out, ya know? I wanted a chance to see what I could do for myself.”

“I can understand that.”

“You can?” she asked hopefully, turning to face him once more.

“Course,” he replied steadily, turning so he could lean against the door. At some point in the conversation, he became more comfortable really talking with her and he couldn’t identify when.

Jen looked past him, over his shoulder and through the open window. “What’s this place?” she asked, nodding her head toward the grassy lot that took up the corner.

“C’mon,” Wace said in lieu of an answer as he twisted and opened the door. He helped her slide out onto the pavement, then on the sidewalk, relishing the fact that she didn’t let go of his hand, even after they were on steady ground.

They walked onto the grass, the sun finally having given way to the moon. There were several footpaths leading in all directions and a set of swings lit by a towering streetlight. Between the sand pit and picnic tables, there was a slide, hidden in the shadows.

It was a park that had stood for almost as many years as Erskineville. It had seen better days, but Wace had been coming here for as long as he could remember. It was run down and out of the way, a place that not many people bothered going to, but it had been his refuge as a child. He’d used to run to it while Copp and Trun were busy and Barky was in school, sit in the swings and kick his legs as hard as he could, soaring well above the top bar, imagining in those moments that he could take flight, move into the sky and leave everything behind.

“What is this place?” Jen asked as she moved for the swings, taking one and lifting her feet as she moved back and forth.

Wace shrugged as he moved behind her and began to push. “Just a park.”

“I like it. I didn’t know Erskineville had a park.”

Wace snorted out a small laugh. “I don’ think many other people do either.”

He pushed her in silence for a few minutes more, enjoying the way her hair lifted and brushed against his chest before she moved forward. She kicked her feet high, toes pointed to the heavens and every once in a while would lean back far enough so that he could see her smiling face, upside down, for just an instant before she returned to him.

“What about you?” she asked during one of those moments.

He came around to sit in the swing next to her, straddling it to face her profile. “Whaddya mean?”

She faced him, still swinging. “What do _they_ expect from you?”

She kept her eyes on him, he could feel them, but he stared at the ground, trying to come up with the right words. His heart was thumping, beating all the way, it seemed, to his ears. His first instinct was to brush off the question, hide the truth behind laughter. But Jen had been honest, he knew, laying it out for him in a way that demanded his truth in return.

He started, then stopped abruptly, rethinking his words. “I uh…don’t reckon anybody ever really expecting anything from me,” he said lightly, kicking his feet so he swung sideways, toward and away from Jen’s now-still form. When she didn’t say anything, he added nervously, “Easier that way, I s’pose.”

He didn’t really know what he meant by that.

She was still watching him, her face soft and reflecting something he couldn’t really understand. He cursed inwardly for ruining things – he should’ve kept his mouth shut. Now things were awkward and if he’d only –

“Then it’s their loss,” she said suddenly, her words heavy and causing his head to snap up.

The softness was still there, but her eyes held a sort of fiery intensity that made him feel like she could see right through him. It was unnerving, but not entirely unwelcome. He didn’t know what to call it, this emboldened feeling he’d never felt before, but he hoped to have it again.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly.

His feet were still moving and she was swinging again and neither said anything for several long beats. The train whistle blew in the distance.

“What about your brother?”

“Barky? What about ‘im?”

“I dunno,” she fumbled. “Anything.”

“Not much ta tell,” he offered as he chuffed out a small laugh. But he knew she was serious, so he made an effort. “‘e, uh, ‘e’s workin’ at a hothouse, packin’ tomatoes.”

“Do you see each other often?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, then backtracked. “Well, off and on. We both still live at the house, but our schedules are kinda diff’rent. ‘e’s up real early an’ get ‘ome in the afternoon while I’m still at work. ‘e don’ really ‘ave weekends – just goes with the seasons.”

“Is it that farm that’s out off High Street?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s big.”

“Fuckin’ _huge_ ,” he exclaimed, unable to catch himself before he’d used that language in front of her. He chanced a look in her direction, saw that she was smiling and he made himself relax.

“It’s like it goes on forever.” She touched her toes to the ground at random intervals and she started to swing in circles. “Is that what ‘e wants ta do?”

“Haven’t the slightest clue. Bark…Jesus, ‘e’s always got ‘is head in the clouds.” He tossed his hand toward the sky and mimed a fishing reel. “Gotta bring ‘im back down ta earth sometimes.”

Jen laughed, but offered, “Sometimes it’s good ta dream.”

Wace made a small sound, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

“What about you?” she asked quietly.

He could see her looking at him through the curtain of her dark hair and he felt his heart rate ratchet up several notches. The feeling of unease was back with a vengeance. This answer was important. He knew it. She’d assess his potential as a future mate and would find herself wanting. He didn’t want to say anything, didn’t want to ruin their budding relationship so quickly, with one sentence. And that was what would happen, he was sure of it.

Before he could stumble over some half-truth, she asked, “If there was anything in the world you could be, what would you do?”

He lifted his head, eyes staring into the starry night, and breathed a sigh of thanks. This was easier – this was the dream world. As long as they weren’t talking about reality, he was safe. “When I was a kid,” he started, before clearing his throat, “I, uh, always wanted ta design car engines.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh. Those racers, maybe Formula One or somethin’ like that.”

“Is’ at somethin’ your dad did?”

“No. He’s a welder. I grew up around the shops, though, so maybe that’s where the interest in machines came from.”

“So you ‘ad an early start, that’s why.”

He looked at her with a question in his eyes.

“You’re good,” she supplied easily, smiling openly at him. “I didn’t know where ta take my car when it was on the blink. A few other teachers at school had brought their cars to the shop. They all swore by Nick’s.”

“‘e’s been around a while – got a good reputation.”

“Not just ‘im, _you_.”

He looked at her incredulously and found her nodding. “Me?”

She continued nodding, smile turning to a grin. “I’m serious. You could probably open your own shop if you wanted. You’re the best mechanic there.”

“Nah,” he drawled, feeling his cheeks burn slightly at the praise. It was a nice gesture, but it wasn’t realistic. Besides, for all her intentions, Jen had no idea what she was talking about when it came to cars.

“Why not?” There was equal parts enthusiasm and genuine puzzlement. “Loads of people would come, I’m sure. Nick’s usually got a stack of people waitin’.”

“ _Maybe_ , but I wouldn’t wanna be in competition with Nick. Wouldn’t seem right, ‘im givin’ me my start an’ all.”

Wace had been at Nick’s for the better part of seven years. He’d begun with a push broom and grease rag when he should’ve been finishing secondary school. He’d endured the grunt work and teasing and made himself useful by learning the tools and squatting next to old timers, ready to hand them whatever they blindly sought from beneath the car. One guy, Jerry, who was long since dead – _fuckin’ ‘eart attacks_ – had taken him under his wing and, after the shop closed at nights, showed him everything he needed to know, from alternators to transmissions.

Wace couldn’t imagine what it would be like to stay in the mechanic field and break away from Nick. Unlike everyone else the man had at his shop, Wace didn’t even have a school diploma, let alone his auto certificate. To open his own place would require a loan. With no collateral and no qualifications on paper to speak of, the bank would boot him out with a laugh and a kick between his legs.

“Well,” she demurred gently, “I think you could do whatever you set your mind to.”

He panicked, briefly, that she’d read his hesitancy as a lack of ambition or laziness. He knew she came from old money. That kind of attitude was expected of his class, but wouldn’t be tolerated among her kind of people. And then he braved a glance in her direction and saw that her face held nothing but a faint sense of…what? Pride? Belief?

He didn’t know what to make of that, so he moved his eyes back to the dirt and rest his forehead against the swing chain.

“Did you always want ta be a teacher?” he asked quietly, wanting to move the topic to someone else besides him, but also genuinely interested in her answer.

“Not really,” she breathed. “I didn’t know what I wanted until I went to university. It was like, before that, I was resigned to the fact that my life was set out before me and there was nothing I could do ta change it. And then I took an extra course, on a whim, about childhood psychology. It had some aspects of teaching in it and…well, there you go,” she finished with a smile.

“What’d your parents say?”

“Oh, they weren’t happy. Still aren’t,” she added quietly. “But it’s not their decision. And I’m happy.”

He smiled at her, wondering how such young woman could be so brave. He couldn’t imagine what his life would be like if he deliberately defied his father. Then again, that was just another difference between them.

This time, when that thought crossed his mind, instead of fear or feelings of inadequacy, he only felt relief. He was glad she didn’t have that.

“You’re prob’ly the best thing that happened to those kids,” he said solemnly, silently adding _I know you’re the best thing that’s happened to me._

He wanted to say it, wanted her to hear what she meant to him. But he kept that part to himself, content with his comment on the students. It seemed to please her. Compliments weren’t something he gave easily, mostly because they usually felt forced.

But with her it was different. It was the truth.


	8. Steal My Daddy's Cue And Make A Livin' Out Of Playin' Pool

She took a deep breath, double-checking her makeup in the rearview mirror of her car one last time before she opened the door and got out. She’d taken special effort to look stunning today -- her hair carefully casual and falling around her face, her plain white button-up shirt that was subtly tailored to tastefully show off her curves, the one pair of designer jeans she had indulged herself in buying emphasizing the graceful length of her legs. Dressed to kill -- but softly.

  Wace had called her up and invited her over to “hang out with the guys.” They were going to be playing billiards, and she was “welcome to join” them, but didn’t have to if she didn’t want to. She was oddly excited at the prospect of meeting Wace’s best mates and had agreed unhesitatingly.  

Just six weeks into this whole ‘steady dating’ thing, she and Wace were still fairly new to it all, but she thought it had to be a good sign that she was being invited to meet his ‘inner circle’ of friends, even if she was slightly nervous about it.

  She knew she was attractive, objectively. She knew guys liked to look at her -- so she’d give them something to whistle about, something to high-five Wace over and clap him on the back with quiet comments when they didn’t think she could hear or see them. At least, she hoped that would be the effect she had. For all she knew, they could tell him that he was out of his mind for dating her and laugh in her face.

  She frowned at the thought and decided she’d be optimistic this time around. Wace liked her well enough -- a crooked grin and a happy blush splashed across her face at the myriad memories of just _how_ well -- so maybe his friends wouldn’t mind her.  

He’d warned her that they were neither charming nor attractive -- his exact words had been, “They’re rude, ugly, and they smell funny,” accented by good-natured howls and protests in the background -- but she thought maybe she could win them over, anyway. It was important to her that they accept her, at least as Wace's girlfriend if not as a peer.  

She walked in to the King's Hotel through the glass door that was propped open, lifting her sunglasses to settle them on top of her head and blinking in the sudden dimness after having been in the glaring sunlight outside.  

The dark, wooden interior of the large room made it a little hard to see, but after a moment and a few rounds of squinting, her eyes fell upon the high, mahogany bar and the tall figure standing behind it with his back to her, filling pints of beer. Even from behind and with her eyes still adjusting to the indoor lighting, she recognized him instantly and couldn’t help the wide smile that claimed her mouth.   

“Hi,” she said softly, and he jumped a little, looking up and over his shoulder at her. His expression immediately settled into an answering grin, and he put down the pint he’d been holding under the tap.

  “Hey,” he answered, and her heart thumped double-time at the sound of his voice. She walked over to him and he came around the bar to meet her. She stopped when he was just a few inches from her, her hands clasped together casually, and turned her face up to him, beaming.

  His eyes lit up and he leaned down slightly, meeting her lips in a chaste kiss. She hummed a little in pleasure, and he opened his mouth, brushing his tongue across her lips. She responded without hesitation, moving her hands to rest on the front of his shoulders, toying with the collar on his shirt. They lost themselves in each other for a moment before he pulled back, a little breathless.  

She kept her eyes closed for a moment after the kiss had ended, swearing she could see sparks of light behind her eyelids. Her entire body buzzed from just that little contact, and she ducked her head, sucking in a few cool breaths to try to regain her equilibrium.  

“I’m glad ya came,” he said quietly, arresting her full attention.

She looked back up at him with smiling eyes and leaned up to kiss his cheek, stepping away before either of them could get carried away again.   “I’m glad you asked me,” she told him sincerely.

The clatter of billiard balls and then a triumphant shout was heard from the room to her right, drawing her attention, and he quirked a grin.

  “Tha guys’re in there,” he told her, tilting his head toward the room. “You can go on in if ya want, or wait for me - I just gotta grab these beers real quick.”  

“I’ll help you,” she said immediately, coming around behind the bar to grab two of the four pints he’d been filling. “Is one of these mine?” she asked hopefully as she followed him into the other room.  

“Yeah,” he answered over his shoulder, handing the two pints he was holding to the men by the pool table. “Jen, this is Daniel Copeland --”  

“Coppa,” the guy corrected casually, taking his beer from Wace and nodding at her.

  “And this is Tierney Blair --”  

“You _bastard_!” the other guy exclaimed. “Go off tellin’ ‘er my name right off!” He took his beer from Wace with an air of extreme annoyance, then focused on Jen. “Call me Trunny,” he said gravely, and she did her best to control the amused grin that threatened to spill into laughter.

  “Pleased to meetcha, Trunny, Coppa,” she said easily, consciously sliding out of her normal, cultured voice (and God, how she’d hated her speech classes as a child) into a little broader accent. She’d learned how to do that in the one year she’d managed to talk her parents into letting her attend a public school in Adelaide, as soon as she’d learned that her high-bred mannerisms made her an easy target for ridicule and harrassment.   

Wace gave her something of a surprised expression as he took one of the pints from her, watching her over the rim as he took a swallow. She looked at him expectantly, but when he gave her a blank look in return, she shook her head a little and finished the introduction herself.

  “I’m Jen.”

  Wace choked a little on his beer as soon as he realized why she’d been looking at him like that, and she snickered quietly. Trunny and Coppa gave each other significant glances over the billiards table, and she had to fight a moment of insecurity. What were they thinking?   

“Well, Jen,” Coppa drawled, lining up a shot for the six ball, corner pocket, “d’ya play?”  

She took a sip of her beer before setting it down on the table closest to her and wandered over to the billiards table. “A little,” she said uncertainly as Coppa made his shot easily. “I’m not real good...”  

“Tha’s all right,” Trunny said cheerfully, tossing her a cue stick, which she caught with minimum fumbling. “Neither’s Wace, an’ we let ‘im play.”  Wace grumbled a little, snatching up his own cue from the rack and holding out his hand for the chalk, which Coppa handed him.

“Only when you’ve just got paid,” he shot back as he chalked the tip of the stick. “Y’can’t afford to any other time.”  

Coppa snorted at that, walking around the table to check out the angle he’d left himself on the four ball, and Wace shot him what was clearly a warning look, sparking Jen's curiosity, though she held her tongue.  

Coppa knocked the cue ball precisely and it looked like he was going to make his shot yet again when Wace’s hand snaked out and snatched the four ball out of the way, grinning as the white cue fell into the side pocket with a ‘plop.’  

“Scratch,” Wace said cheekily, tossing the four up into the air and catching it again.  

The look Coppa shot him was murderous, but Wace didn’t flinch.

“Rack ‘em,” he said. “Let’s start a new game.”  

“Yeah,” Trunny agreed. “Jen can join in.”

  “Oh, I dunno,” she hedged. “I’m really not good.”  

Coppa and Trunny both met her disclaimer with casual shrugs, and Wace came up behind her, a little hesitation in his manner. “I’ll give ya a few pointers, if ya need 'em,” he offered quietly, and she turned her face up toward him with a wicked grin.  

“Oh, well, all right,” she conceded, mischief in her tone. “Is it all right if I sit out the first game, though? Just watch?”  

“Sure,” Trunny said easily. “We’ll just play elimination.”  

Jen tilted her head a little curiously. “Elimination?”  

“Yeah,” Trunny explained, coming over to stand beside her as Coppa and Wace collected all the balls into the triangle. “Three person game. The object is to sink all your enemies’ balls and keep your own.”  

Jen bit the inside of her cheek to keep from making a dirty joke, but a loud snicker from over by the pool table let her know that her boyfriend was on the same mental track. She lifted mischievous eyes to his and winked, to his apparent delight, as a smirk drifted across his face for a moment.  

Keeping her eyes on Wace, Jen said innocently, “I think I know that game. We used to play it at university - ‘cept we called it _Screw Yer Mate_.”

  Coppa hid a cough and Wace’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Trunny just gave her a wide grin and bumped her on the shoulder. “Well, if you’re short of mates, I know where you can find one or two,” he teased with a wink.  

Wace glared at his friend and barked out, “Trun, get yer ass over here and play, ‘less you want me to break your fuckin’ balls.” His tone of voice left no room to assume he’d been talking about the game, and Jen smiled, stifling a giggle. His possessiveness was endearing -- and attractive.  

Trunny complied with yet another wink in Jen’s direction, and she lifted her pint of beer in a half-toast. She gave Wace a flirtatious smile and peeked at him through her eyelashes as she took a sip, and he grinned a little, shaking his head.  

“All right, you wankers,” Coppa grumbled, chalking his cue impatiently. “Is anybody actually gonna play?”  

“Keep yer pants on,” Wace shot back. “Who’s breakin’?”  

Jen smiled openly at the competitive spirit that was already rising between her boyfriend and Coppa. Trunny seemed to be along for the ride, enjoying the game, although she had a feeling he could get ferocious enough under the right circumstances.

  Coppa broke and pocketed the nine ball, then called out, “I got one ta five,” claiming the first set of balls as ‘his’ to protect. He missed his next shot, a relatively easy bank for the ten ball in the side pocket, and Jen noted that it was probably the four ball in the way that had obstructed his angle.  

She catalogued the difficulty to save for a later date and turned her attention to Wace as he chalked up his cue and walked around the table, looking for an advantageous angle. She observed the way his eyes flickered over the layout, carefully analyzing. With his back to her, he leaned over the table, taking a few experimental jabs in the direction of the cue ball as he lined up a shot for the two ball by the side pocket.

Trying to not be very obvious about it, she let her eyes slide over the picture he presented, enjoying it while it lasted. The angle of his posture stretched his untucked blue shirt nicely over his shoulders and back and emphasized the narrowing of his waist and hips. She bit the inside of her lip and let her gaze slip down appreciatively to the way his jeans hugged his ass and upper thighs. He made the shot and stood up, and she averted her eyes quickly, trying to stifle a blush she could feel rising.  

Coppa cursed succinctly when one of his balls plopped into the pocket, and Wace grinned at him, calling out, “Eleven ta fifteen,” for his own group before he glanced over his shoulder at Jen to include her in his victory. One eyebrow shot up into a sharp arch at the faint pink flush on her face, and she grinned sheepishly.

  “Good shot, baby,” she said, clearing her throat.  

A mix of surprise and pleasure washed over his face but was gone quickly, and she realized with a start that it was the first time she’d ever used a term of endearment to address him. She hadn’t really felt comfortable doing something quite so... couple-y... before now, but under the circumstances, it had felt so natural she hadn’t even thought about it. She watched him as he bent over, this time facing her, to take aim for another ball, this one the ten that had given Coppa so much trouble.  

The ten fell into the pocket with a happy plunk and Trunny groaned. “You bloody dags,” he griped at his two friends, seeing that the only set they’d left for him was the one they’d sunk two balls from. He cast a pitiful look over his shoulder at Jen, saying mournfully, “Now I know why ya called it _Screw Yer Mate_.”  

“Quitcher bitchin’,” Wace remanded blithely as he set his eye on one of Coppa’s set.  

He brushed by her on his way around the table to set up his next shot and she reached out just a little, letting her fingertips trail lightly across his thigh as he passed. He didn’t look at her, but she took note of the spark in his eyes that he almost managed to hide.  

She chewed on the inside of her lip as she watched the game go on, observing all the players. While Coppa and Wace were obviously the most competitive of the trio, Trunny held his passive-aggressive ground quite well. He made some nice shots and left some vicious set-ups for Coppa, always seeming to play on his friend’s weaknesses. Wace focused on the game to the exclusion of almost all else, though he did take the time to meet her eyes every now and then, checking on her. The game came very close to ending once or twice, but then someone would scratch and the pocketed balls would all be re-added to the table.

  Jen replenished their beer as soon as it ran out, earning a perfunctory nod from Coppa, a hearty thanks from Trunny, and an admiring look from Wace. She blushed as his eyes traveled warmly over her, and a smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. She returned to her perch, and after his next turn was finished, Wace surprised her by coming over to where she was, leaning against the bar beside her and watching as Trunny took his place at the table.  

His hand rested on the surface of the bar, and she slid hers over the couple of inches that were between them, her fingers bumping his. Without taking his eyes off the table, he moved his hand so that their fingers twined together easily, and she felt a little flurry of happiness in her stomach at the contact.  

Trun made two very good shots, and as Coppa looked for a way out of the mess his friend had left for him, she felt Wace’s fingers begin to rub gently across the back of her hand. She felt a flush of desire stain her cheeks and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He wasn’t even looking at her, but the glint in his eyes let her know his movements were very deliberate.  

In retaliation, she slipped her thumb easily underneath his hand and brushed it against his palm. She could’ve been imagining it, but she thought she heard the slightest hitch in his breathing just before he called out a heckling comment to Coppa.   The other man ignored him, which seemed to be fine with Wace. Still without looking at her, he shifted his stance so that he edged closer to her gradually, eventually brushing up against her. His hand let go of hers only to snake around her shoulders, holding her into his side as he took a long swallow of his beer. Delighted, she let her arm rest across his lower back, her fingers slipping into the pocket of his jeans, caressing him and holding him to her.  

She rested her head against his body, her eyes fixed on the game but not really seeing. She could hear and feel the steady, though slightly quick, rasp of his breath in his lungs and just hear his deep, thumping pulse. She didn’t realize her eyelids had begun to drift closed until he moved out of her arms to take his turn at the table and she jerked upright, her eyes flying open.

  She felt the heat rise in her face and took a large gulp of her beer, looking away quickly from the men at the billiards table, but not fast enough to miss Coppa’s raised eyebrow and Trunny’s joking leer, both directed at Wace.

She tried to tell herself she didn’t care that she couldn’t see his face.   She worried for a moment if she had gone too far, been too unguarded with him in front of the other men. She was so preoccupied with worrying about it that she missed Wace’s turn and had no idea if he actually sank anything or not -- didn’t even know he’d taken a turn, in fact, until she felt him bump against her knees and looked up just in time to see him look over his shoulder at her as he leaned back against her stool, wedging himself between her legs.  

She smiled and squeezed his hips with her knees, sliding her arms around his chest and resting her chin on his shoulder. She breathed out a happy sigh at this reassurance that he wasn’t embarrassed by her affections, that he didn’t mind if his friends knew how hopelessly, madly .... her thoughts trailed off before she could go there, but she chuffed out a soft, giddy laugh and nuzzled his ear gently.  

He went stiff in her arms, but when she opened her eyes in alarm, his expression showed no discomfort, only an odd sort of tension. She didn’t know what had caused it -- maybe the nuzzling had gone a bit too far, or maybe it was something else entirely. To be on the safe side, she moved her face away from his a little and rubbed her palms soothingly over his chest. One of his hands came up to cover hers fondly, and she smiled happily, not bothering to hide her grin when Trunny looked up from lining up his shot and caught her eyes.  

An amused look slid over the other man’s face and she gave Wace a little squeeze around his ribs. Trunny ran the table, knocking in all of Wace’s balls except one and all except two of Coppa’s. Coppa cursed succinctly and Wace swore under his breath, but Jen could hear the chuckle in his voice.  

“This is gonna suck,” he muttered quietly toward her. “Bugger.”

He pulled away from her slightly, and she loosened her grip, letting her fingers slide over his shirt as he straightened up, her hands coming to rest on his waist just above his hips.  

Trunny missed his next shot for one of Coppa’s remaining balls and swore loudly, fiercely, swinging his cue around. The stick flew out of his hand and slammed up against the wall with a clatter, and Wace jerked fully out of her embrace, taking a half step toward the other man.   “Shit, Trun! Save your fuckin’ temper for the fuckin’ cheap sticks downstairs!”  

Jen flinched slightly, taken aback at the unexpectedly harsh tone of his voice, the anger that colored his words and lent an unyielding set to his shoulders.  

“Awww, fuck it,” Trunny muttered, snagging another cue stick out of the rack, and Jen sat stiffly for a few moments as tension hung in the air, but Coppa lined up his shot for one of Trunny’s two remaining balls, and the clatter of the billiards broke through the room.

  In short order, Coppa cleared the table, grinning triumphantly as the cue ball rolled to a safe stop a good five inches from the corner pocket that had claimed Wace’s last ball.  

“Goddamn,” Wace swore quietly, hands on his hips as he looked over the table. “Fuck.”  

A sly grin slid across Coppa’s face and he rolled the cue between his fingers. With a smug expression, his eyes found Jen’s and he said levelly, “Your turn.”  

Her eyebrow arched sharply, and she slid from her stool, looking around for the cue stick she’d rested against the bar when she’d taken her seat. She found it and grasped it easily, reaching for the chalk that was on the table as Coppa began re-racking the balls.  

“You ready ta get beat?” she asked Coppa, smiling.

  “I thought you said you weren’t that good,” Trunny reminded her plaintively, and she grinned at him.

  “That was before I saw ya play,” she winked, and a wide grin slid across Coppa’s face as he cast a significant look towards Wace. Wace shook his head and backed away from the table, raising his hands as if to show that he wasn’t getting involved in this one.  

“Who’s breakin’?” she asked, chalking her cue.  

“Why don’t you go ahead, Jen?” Coppa suggested, and she looked at him carefully.   

“All right then, I will,” she nodded, leaning over the table and lining up a shot. She made a clean break, though no balls were pocketed.  

Trunny shook his head as he walked around the table, surveying the set-up. “I think you mighta started talkin’ too big too quick,” he grinned, but she only smiled back at him with unsettling serenity.

  After he took a moment to look more closely at the tableau, however, temper began darkening his face. “Fuckin’ A!” he exclaimed. “Ya didn’t fuckin’ leave me a shot!”

  “Now, I’m not _that_ good,” Jen laughed. “It’s just the way they rolled. I’m sure you’ve got a shot somewhere; none of the sets have been claimed yet.”

  He glared at her. “I _know_ none o’ the fuckin’ sets ‘ave been claimed yet,” he griped. “There’s just no clear shots.”

  “So forfeit your turn an’ stop your fuckin’ yappin’,” Coppa interjected before Wace could say anything, though the other man had opened his mouth with just that intent.

  “No fuckin’ way!” Trunny returned fiercely, leaning over the table with his eyes fixed on a ball near the corner, but his heightened emotions made him a little clumsy and though the cue ball bumped against the four, nothing made it to the pockets.  

Coppa ended up being the first to make a shot and all the sets were quickly claimed. Coppa had six to ten, Trunny one to five, and Jen was left with eleven to fifteen.   “See if you can’t manage to do better with ‘em than your boyfriend there did,” Coppa remarked mildly, and Jen’s smile froze in place for a moment as her eyes flew to Wace to check his reaction to having their relationship named so blatantly by his friend.

She had sensed that he was mostly a very private person, but she was learning by watching their interaction that Coppa had something of a broad license with him. It was obvious that the two men were long-time friends, and Wace responded to the pointed comment with a good-natured, “Fuck you.”  

The game was a fairly close one, finally coming down to the wire between Coppa and Jen. Trunny sat sulking a little ways away from Wace, nursing his beer and occasionally calling heckling comments to one or the other of the players. Jen’s turn came up with the thirteen ball directly between the cue ball and the seven, Coppa’s only remaining ball on the table.  

“Thirteen’s unlucky,” Trunny said gleefully, and Jen chose not to spare him the energy of a withering glare, instead focusing on her shot.

  “I can make it,” she said quietly, as if to herself, and Coppa’s eyebrows shot up.

He looked at Wace as if to ask if she really could and Wace just shrugged. He’d never seen her play before, either, and though she’d made some pretty good shots throughout the game, the angle on this one was all wrong. She couldn’t bank it with any hope of getting the seven into the pocket, and if the cue ball hit the thirteen first, it was considered a forfeit.

  Everyone went utterly quiet as she focused in on the shot, Trunny beginning to mutter something only to be quickly shushed by Wace, who was watching his girlfriend with interest. The tip of her pink tongue was visible at the corner of her lips, a sign of her concentration.  

Finally, decisively, she thrust forward with her cue stick, hitting the white ball low on its curve and sending it hopping safely over the thirteen. It struck the seven with a satisfying thunk and Jen stood back and smiled as Coppa’s last ball rolled gently into the waiting corner pocket.  

“Game,” she said with only a hint of smugness as she met his eyes.  

“Holy fuck!” Trunny exclaimed, leaping up from his seat. “Did you fuckin’ see that!?”  

Coppa nodded, holding out his hand to shake Jen’s. “Good match,” he said quietly, and she heard the respect in his voice.

  “Same to you,” she said honestly, then flinched back as Trunny sailed between them, knocking into their arms on his way to the table.   “Holy fuckin’ shit!” he repeated. “That was fuckin’ unbelievable!”  

“Settle down, Trun,” Wace said with mild annoyance as he came up to Jen. Coppa backed off subtly as she turned to face her boyfriend with an uncertain smile on her face. “That _was_ pretty fuckin’ unbelievable,” he said quietly, leaning in a little. “Where’d you learn ta do that?”  

She shrugged. “Someone I used to know,” she answered vaguely, her mind shying away from the thought of her father who had spent long hours teaching her how to make a jump shot at her insistence, despite the fact that he didn’t think it was something she’d ever need to know. Ladies didn’t play billiards, after all. Not the Taylor women, anyway.  

“You’ll hafta teach me sometime,” he said with a leering smirk, his eyes twinkling as he leaned in even closer.

  “Kay,” she agreed breathlessly, her eyelids beginning to flutter at the feel of his breath on her face. She felt the familiar pleasant ache in her body at his nearness and was anticipating his kiss when suddenly something rammed into her from behind, slamming her into his chest.   

“Sorry,” Trunny apologized quickly, backing away. “I’ll uh, I’ll just -- I’m gonna go help Coppa,” he stammered, stumbling out of the room. Jen glanced around and noticed that Coppa had, in fact, disappeared.  

Turning back to Wace, she smiled up at him and said quietly, “I like your mates. They’re a riot.”

She especially liked Coppa, despite a slight competitive edge she still felt between them, because she sensed that his friendship was something that Wace found very important.   

“I think they like you, too,” he told her, taking advantage of the position Trunny had put them in by bringing his arms around her back, wrapping her up in an embrace. “‘Specially Trun; I think ya blew ‘im away with that last shot.”  

“Ya think?” she asked flirtatiously, shifting a little in his arms so that her breasts rubbed against him.  

“Yeah,” he answered through a soft groan as his arms tightened around her. The time for banter was over as Jen tilted her face up expectantly and he found her mouth with his own, kissing her with heady enthusiasm.  

She couldn’t help the little noises of pleasure and desire that bubbled up in her throat, but he didn’t seem to mind, answering them with a few of his own. He moved them blindly towards the pool table, stopping when the backs of her thighs bumped against the railing. One of his hands snaked under her shirt, pressing into the soft skin of her stomach. She gasped into his mouth and he chuckled as she arched into him.  

She reached down and grabbed his wrist, moving his hand up to her breast, and he moaned deeply as his palm cupped over the material of her bra, cradling the weight of her flesh. They broke from the kiss and her eyes fluttered open, finding his. A blushing smile crept across her face at the glint of desire in his expression and he grinned broadly, leaning in to claim her mouth again.  

She’d just reached for the hem of his shirt when a voice from the door called, “Hey Wace, didja --”  

They broke apart suddenly, although their hands remained on each other’s bodies as Wace looked over her head at Trunny who stood in the doorway with his mouth gaping open.  

“What?” Wace growled, and Trunny backed away, a wicked grin coming over his face.  

“Nothin’,” he laughed. “I’ll just... leave you two alone now...”

And with that he disappeared.  

Jen giggled, leaning her face into Wace’s chest. His hand that was under her shirt slid around to her back, cradling her to him.

After a moment, when her laughter had calmed, she looked up at him again and murmured, “Where were we?”  

“Right ‘ere,” he answered just before his mouth found hers again.  


	9. Look Over Your Shoulder And Tell Me What's Coming

“So, Allan, I hear you got yourself a fresh notch in your belt.”   

Wace couldn’t see him from where he was currently sprawled on his back under a car, doing his hell-best at fixing what Larry had gummed up earlier, but he was sure from the tone of voice that Joe Lyles was wearing a leering smirk on his face as he made that statement. Unwilling to discuss Jen with his coworker, Wace just gave a non-committal grunt and kept fiddling with the car.

What the hell had Larry done to this, anyway?

  “You got a new piece, Allan?” Russ piped up from behind the desk.

  Wace grumbled to himself, some part of his brain feeling insanely grateful that he’d been the only mechanic on duty the day Jen had come to pick up her car, and why the hell were there three of them today? It wasn’t like anyone other than him was actually _working._

  “I ‘eard it’s Jen Taylor,” Joe continued tauntingly. “Our boy Allan’s gone for the high class tail this time.”

  “Tha’s enough, Joe,” Wace muttered as he slid out from under the car and stood up, wiping his hands off on a grease rag and beginning to collect his tools.

 _Finally_ , he’d figured out how to fix Larry’s clusterfuck. That was going to be extra on the labor bill, nevermind that it wasn’t the customer’s fault.  

“Jen Taylor!” Russ exclaimed. “Shit, Wace, you done gone an’ got yourself a _nice_ girl. Wha the hell you gonna do with her?”  

Russ’s teasing was completely good-natured, and Wace grinned back at him, opening his mouth to make a self-deprecating comment, when Joe beat him to it.  

“Aww hell, Russ, whaddya think ‘e’s gonna do with ‘er? ‘E’s got a pecker, ain’t ‘e? ‘E’s gonna do what ev’ry guy in Erko’d love to do --”  

“Lyles, you might wanna be thinkin’ ’bout shuttin’ the fuck up now,” Wace warned him darkly, but Joe continued on blithely.  

“--I'll bet she's a good fuck, too... an’ when ‘e’s done with ‘er, I’m gonna shove my fat dick b’tween those pretty lips o’ hers an’ --”

  Joe never would’ve seen it coming if it hadn’t been for Russ’s alarmed yell, but he ducked just in time to avoid the main force of Wace’s punch. He threw up his arm to block, but Wace just came in from the other side, catching him in his throat and sending him crashing to the floor, choking for breath.  

Russ came across the counter, grabbing Wace’s arms and pulling back hard, and Joe’s eyes widened as he noticed the glint of metal in Wace’s left hand -- the wrench he’d been putting away a few moments before.  

“Nick!” Russ called loudly, sounding desperate as Wace almost managed to thrash free of the restraining grip. “Nick, come ‘elp!”

  In a few short seconds, Nick was in from the back storeroom where he’d been doing inventory, and came around in front of Wace, pushing back on his shoulders and getting in his face.  

“Allan! Allan, calm down! I mean it, mate, do it _now_ ,” Nick bellowed, and Wace calmed half a notch, his eyes focusing on his boss’s face. “Get your shit together, Allan; I ain’t havin’ this on my floor.”  

Once Wace had settled down enough for Russ to relax, he yanked his arms free and stormed off with a huff, throwing the wrench down on the concrete floor with a loud, echoing clatter as he did. Nick turned and looked at Joe, who was still lying on the floor, his hand protectively over his bruised throat.

  “Wha’ the ‘ell were you thinkin’, Lyles?” Nick demanded. “Didja forget who the fuck you were talkin’ to?”  

“I think ‘e just didn’t realize who ‘e was talkin’ _about_ ,” Russ put in helpfully.  

“Yeah,” Joe agreed hoarsely. “Ain’t none of us ever seen Allan get so worked up over a girl before.”

  “It ain’t never been Jen Taylor before, neither,” Russ pointed out.  

“Jen Taylor?” Nick asked in surprise. “Wace is takin’ out Jen Taylor?”  

Russ nodded, looking to Joe for confirmation. “’S’what I hear.”  

“Damn,” Nick said in awe, shaking his head. He looked down at Joe and snorted, a lopsided grin flitting over his face. “You ain’t got half a brain, Lyles,” he said derisively, laughter in his voice as he walked from the garage.  

Russ stood there for a moment longer before going back to the counter, but Joe remained on the floor for long minutes, remembering the look in Wace’s eyes and the glint of the wrench in his hand, before he finally pushed himself to shaky feet and made his way toward the pick-up in the corner that needed a new oil filter. He had a feeling that had been a close one.


	10. Let's Take A Chance And Fly Somewhere Alone

The sunlight falling across her eyes woke her slowly, gently, and she groaned in protest, stretching a little and wondering why all her muscles were so damn _sore_...

Her hand bumped something solid and she froze, holding her breath. What the... ?

She opened her eyes cautiously, shifting her gaze over to the object she’d collided with, and couldn’t help the stupid grin that splashed across her face at the sight that greeted her.  

Wace.

  Suddenly everything came rushing back. He’d walked her to her door after they got home from dinner, as he always did, and they’d kissed for a while on her front porch, hands roaming boldly as they’d begun doing more often, until finally she’d gripped his waist with greedy fingers and whispered in his ear that maybe he should come inside.  

He hadn’t hesitated, and they’d barely made it through the door, stumbling and giggling around the kisses they couldn't seem to stop long enough to do anything. All wrapped up in each other, it took longer than it should have to maneuver the locking mechanism to let them in and then, once they were finally inside, she’d accidentally slammed the door shut with his body, her eagerness overcoming her coordination. They’d both laughed but that ended quickly, replaced by loud, happy moans as mouths were plundered, hands sliding under shirts and over skin, buttons opening with more haste than skill.  

She hadn’t really meant for it to go so fast -- she’d thought maybe they could draw it out, being that it was their first time and all -- but once she’d gotten a taste of him, once she’d felt his bare chest against hers, his shirt still dangling from his right arm where he hadn’t quite managed to shake it loose before he’d had to touch her again, she’d known there would be no slowing down for either of them.  

With some difficulty and many collisions with the living room furniture (“Shit!” “Are you all ri---mph!” “Don’t worry; cheap lamp -- never liked it anyway...”) they’d made it to her bedroom, collapsing onto the bed, tangled together and buzzing with giddy arousal.

  “You sure?” he’d asked as he kissed her again, and somewhere in the back of her mind, before it short-circuited, she had thought that it really wasn’t fair for him to kiss her right after he asked her that question, because how was she supposed to think straight when all she could feel was his tongue sliding so deliciously over hers and all she could think about was how damn _good_ he tasted and how much she wanted this to never, ever end.  

“Yeah,” she'd breathed when he broke away, moving his mouth down the flushed skin of her neck to nibble gently at her collarbone. “Yeah -- I’m sure.”  

He’d looked up then, going utterly still for a moment as he'd searched her eyes intently, and she’d felt a strange fluttering in her stomach like she wanted to just fly apart because she _knew_ what he was looking for. He was looking to make sure she was sure, and suddenly, she’d known with clarity that she _loved_ him. 

 Now, watching as his back rose and fell with his deep breathing, his face turned toward her so she could see each relaxed, sleepy feature clearly, seeing the contrast between the deep tan of his skin and the pristine white of her sheets draped over his hips, she bit her lip and couldn’t help realizing that the feeling hadn’t faded. This was the only man she’d ever love like this, she felt sure, because there was no way she was going to be able to get her heart back from him. He’d stolen it and hadn’t left a damn bit behind for her to hold on to just in case she wanted to change her mind.  

He shifted in his sleep and the muscles of his back and shoulders moved gently beneath his smooth skin, and she couldn’t help smiling. Not like she could see herself wanting to change her mind anytime soon, anyway. Ignoring the stiffness in certain muscles and an irritating sort of scratchy soreness down below, she slid over to him beneath the sheets, draping her body over his back and beginning to plant slow, sweet kisses on the tops of his shoulders, his neck, and his face.  

He jumped and woke with a soft sound, sitting up a little, startled, and she fell back from him, giving him some space.

“Hey,” she said softly.  

Grunting, he flopped onto his back and rubbed his eyes sleepily. After a moment, he woke up enough to crack one eyelid open and look at her. A shy smile crept across his face and he returned her quiet greeting. “Hey, yourself.”  

The tender smile on her lips grew wider until she couldn’t help herself and she leaned in slowly to kiss him beside his mouth, laughing a little when he held her face and shifted them so that he could kiss her deeply.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered, feeling heavy desire burn through her again at the feel of his hands on her. She wanted to say it then, to tell him what she’d realized, that she loved him, but she didn’t want to frighten him off. She’d let him be the first.

  “Jenny,” he murmured into her mouth and she felt everything within her tighten with affection for this rough young man who was so strangely gentle with her.

Nobody ever called her Jenny; she was simply ‘Jen’ to everyone except a few who insisted on calling her ‘Jennifer.’ She didn’t mind that there was a name that only he called her; she didn’t mind at all.  

“It’s Sunday,” she whispered between kisses, her hands beginning to roam all over his body, his returning the favor. “We don’t have to leave the bed all day if we don’t want to.”

  “Are you askin’ me ta stay?” he said, and she felt that he was asking for more than simple clarification.  

“Yeah,” she nodded, cuddling into him and kissing his chin, his cheek, nuzzling his nose with her own. “Yeah, I’m askin’ you to stay.”  

With a wide grin, he covered her mouth with his and rolled them in one easy motion so that she was beneath him, caught between those smooth, muscular arms, and she ran her fingers over his biceps and shoulders as he slid his legs along the length of hers. He smiled into the kiss when her thighs came up around his hips, eagerly welcoming him. As he pushed inside of her again she couldn’t help but feel the words in her head, and they stayed there the whole time they were moving together, like a broken record she couldn’t turn off.

_I love you I love you I love you Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou...._

And when he buried his face in her neck and cried out hoarsely, their bodies arching together in perfect timing, she bit her lip to keep from saying it out loud.

  But as his breathing slowed and his pulse began to return to normal, she felt his lips moving against her neck and smiled as she realized what he was saying.

In a low, sincere voice he rumbled, “I love you, Jenny.”  

A burst of warmth spread through her as she tightened her arms around him and whispered into his ear, “I love you too, Wace.”  


	11. There's Goodness And There's Pain

“Baby?”

“Hnh?”

Wace lifted his head slightly, waiting for Jen to say something. When she hesitated, he asked, “Jen?”

He’d been on the verge of slumber – maybe he’d imagined it.

“I just…it’s nothin’. Never mind. Go back ta sleep, baby.”

He pushed himself up on his pillow, bleary-eyed, but unsettled. He almost turned his bed lamp on, but thought better of it. “Didn’t sound like nothin’,” he said quietly, feeling for her until he brushed the cool surface of her shoulder blade.

She relaxed under the contact, turning toward him until she lay on her back, her elbow touching his stomach. As his sight adjusted, he made out the deep furrow in her brow and the way she held her lower lip between her teeth. He sidled up next to her, sweeping the back of his hand gently across her cheek and placing a kiss at her temple. “Jenny?”

He watched her close her eyes and shake her head.

“It’s silly. I’m…I dunno what I’m thinkin’.”

He breathed out a soft laugh through his nostrils as he scooted lower and wrapped his arms around her. “Me neither. So why dontcha tell me an’ I’ll help ya decide just how silly it is?”

That got a smile out of her, briefly, before she sobered and took a deep breath. “Would you ever cheat on me?”

He shot up, elbows taking his weight. “Wh- _what_?”

Of all the things she could’ve said, that was certainly not in his realm of expectation. Before she could repeat the question he’d heard clearly, he said, “No. No, _never_.”

“Promise?”

“ _Yes_ , of course I do,” he assured her, feeling the slightest bit of panic start to well up in his stomach. “Ha-have I done somethin’ ta – ”

“No,” she said quickly, and her cheek brushed against his bare chest as she shook her head.

“Then why…?”

“I told you it was silly,” she defended, but he could hear the tremor in her voice as she tried to laugh it off.

She wiped her eyes and he gave her a few moments to gather herself, trusting that an explanation was coming.

“One of my coworkers, a girlfriend from school, ‘er husband’s been cheatin’ on ‘er – with _two_ women.” Her voice grew stronger as she continued and he nuzzled his face deeper into her hair. “She ran into one of ‘em as she was leavin _their_ house. I mean, what kinda asshole bring ‘is mistress to ‘is wife’s bed? It just…it got me thinkin’ is all.”

“Jenny,” he started slowly, completely at a loss as to how he could possibly calm any of her worries, “I don’t…there’s not much I can do ta make ya b’lieve me, I guess, but…I-I promise I’d never put ya through that.”

He’d have to be more than halfway to crazy to do something like that. He didn’t have any illusions about being able to hold onto someone like her for forever – she’d eventually find someone with more husband potential, he knew that, had accepted it – but he sure as hell didn’t plan on doing anything to speed that process along.

“I believe you,” she said solemnly, turning to her side so she could place a soft kiss at his collarbone. “You gave me your word – that’s enough.”

Somewhat settled, but still uneasy, he draped his arm over her waist and rubbed large circles on her back, relieved that at least she seemed to be assured about the situation. Her question had thrown him – infidelity wasn’t anything he’d ever thought about. He’d never been with any one woman long enough for it to become an issue and with Jen…well, it was different. To him, he already had the most beautiful woman who, daily, promised that she loved him, despite how difficult he made it sometimes. What was there to go to after that?

“I caught my dad with ‘is office assistant when I was seven,” she said abruptly, jolting him back to the present. “‘E made me promise not ta tell my mum – and I didn’t. I spent two years feeling this…this incredible guilt and anger all mixed together. I didn’t know what ta do with it all.”

He pulled her tightly against him and kissed the crown of her head before whispering, “M’sorry, Jenny.”

“It’s okay,” she said quickly. “Didn’t matter in the end. When I was nine, I found out about my mum’s affair with her sailing instructor.”

He shifted his head, seeking out her face and placing gentle kisses on her tear-soaked eyelids. “Ya shouldn’t’ve ‘ad ta go through that.”

“Why do people do that?” she asked, ignoring his apology. “Why do they say they love one another, bring a kid into the world, then go off an’ do somethin’ like that? S’not fair.”

“No. It ain’t,” he agreed, kissing her on the mouth and ignoring the way his heart was beginning to race. “People…parents…they can be really selfish, really _shitty_ ta one another sometimes. My mum…she left when we was kids,” he confessed quickly, knowing he’d never finish otherwise. “I never understood why she did that – why she didn’t take us with ‘er. It usedta…it’d tear me up inside, me tryin’ ta figure it all. And then…one day, I just…stopped.”

“How?” she whispered, her tone slightly pleading.

“I guess I figured I’d _never_ understand it, ‘er leavin’ the way she did. It’s not…it’s not somethin’ I ‘ave in me.”

He felt her hand move to draw him closer and he concentrated on that – the soft surface of her palm as it smoothed over his back, the warm weight of her breasts as they rested against his ribcage. He welcomed the distraction from other thoughts, darker thoughts filled with rejection and a level of hate that scared him sometimes.

He didn’t want to be that guy, the one who let a single experience define him, but no matter how hard he tried, it came rushing back every now and then, that sense of loss, of floundering without any purpose or direction. His mother had given that to him, her last parting gift when she’d stripped him of any sense of security, of trust in those that had pledged their love to him. He didn’t want to be _that_ guy.

He didn’t think he’d ever explain it to Jen, or that he even _could_ , but being with her…it somehow held those thoughts at bay, let him become someone else, if only for a little while. How could he _ever_ trade that for a roll with some faceless woman?

The nip of her teeth against the thin flesh of his neck broke him from his reverie. He felt his breath quicken as she licked and sucked at him, moving steadily toward his mouth by way of his ear and jaw line. He swallowed hard, taking a deep breath before she covered his mouth with hers and pushed herself up on her elbow.

She kissed him languidly for several long minutes and he was content to let her lead, a bit of a change from how they normally interacted in the bedroom. Her free hand settled just below just sternum and he felt his stomach jump at the inaudible beat she drummed with her fingers. When she pulled away, he reached for her face, tracing his knuckle down the soft contour, over the shell of her ear, brushing her hair back so he could see her smiling at him.

He kissed her chastely, laying back into the pillow and closing his eyes as she reached beneath the sheet and took him in her hand. He was already hard, more than ready, but nowhere close to straining against his arousal. She stroked him softly, hand moving in the rhythm she’d discovered over the last eight months with him. He could feel her eyes on him and though he was slightly uncomfortable with as much intimacy as she was giving him, he wasn’t willing to put a stop to it.

This was what she wanted, how she wanted to do things and he’d give himself to her for that.

She lifted one leg and he slipped inside her slick center, groaning as she took him all the way, their pelvic bones rubbing against one another. He brought his hand to her back, scratching a gentle pattern before moving to cup her ass, squeezing her and pressing her down.

They kissed again, noses brushing, tongues dancing around one another’s, lips pulled between teeth.

Her hips undulated against his and he felt his arousal building, nearing the tipping point. He reached down blindly, maneuvering his hand between them and dipped his fingers between her folds, rolling her pulsing nub between the calloused pads.

She hummed in pleasure and brought her face to hover above his. Her thick hair washed over him, still slightly damp and smelling of the rose-scented shampoo she’d used an hour earlier. She leaned back down and pulled his earlobe between her lips, sucking hard and eliciting a heavy moan from him.

“M’sorry, baby,” she whispered into his ear.

“For what?” he breathed, thinking she thought she’d hurt him somehow.

She kissed his temple and lifted her head once more, staring into his eyes as she said, “For ev’ry hurt you’ve ever had.”

She dipped her head again, planting her lips against his, kissing him deeply. He was glad for that, the distraction it provided against the heavy knot in his stomach and the burning he felt behind his eyes.

He screwed them shut and reached for her, cradling the base of her skull and holding her to him. He’d never have this again, he knew it, and he didn’t want to let it go.


	12. These Lines Of Lightning Mean We're Never Alone

“Hey, teach, ain’t it lunch time yet?”  

Jen looked up in surprise at the figure leaning indolently against the doorframe of her empty classroom and gasped, “Wace! What’re you doin’ ‘ere?” She pushed back from her desk and immediately went to him, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.  

“What, I can’t take my girlfriend to lunch without the fuckin’ Spanish Inquisition?” he joked into her hair as he wrapped his arms around her.  

“Language,” she reprimanded him mildly. “We’re in a school. There are children.”  

She pulled away from the embrace long enough to look into his eyes before she kissed him softly on the lips, her fingers sliding into his hair as he coaxed her mouth open and tilted his head to deepen the contact.  

They broke breathlessly after a moment and he cocked an eyebrow, asking in a low, sexy voice, “What were you sayin’ about kids bein’ around?”  

“There aren’t any here right now,” she pointed out with a grin before she kissed him again.  

He chuckled into her mouth as she pressed into him eagerly, one of his hands sliding down to cup the curve of her ass. She felt him stirring against her and reluctantly broke the kiss before they got carried away. His eyes remained half-closed for a moment after she stepped back and her heart skipped a beat at the thought of how absolutely beautiful he was.

  “Lunch?” he reminded hoarsely, clearing his throat, and she nodded.   

“Where are we goin’?” she asked as she took his hand and led him out of her classroom and down the hall. “Needs ta be somewhere close; I gotta be back in forty-five minutes.”

  “There’s that fast food place right up the road,” Wace started, trailing off as she slowed their pace and stopped. She was staring thoughtfully at the oak door that stood partially open beside them and his fingers twitched lightly around hers, drawing her attention. “What?” he asked suspiciously.  

“Are you _really_ hungry?” she drawled, turning sparkling eyes toward him.  

“I could eat --” he began before he realized exactly what she was asking and amended, “But I’m not starvin’ or anything.”  

Grinning madly, she reached out and pulled the door open, revealing a rather large closet filled with janitorial items. “Sonya musta left it open,” she explained in a hushed voice, tugging him behind her and pulling the door to but not shutting it all the way.  

“Will it lock us in if you close it?” he asked nervously, casting a doubtful glance at the deceptively innocent stainless steel knob.

  “Dunno,” she answered truthfully. “D’ya wanna chance it?”

  Wace couldn’t decide which would be worse -- having someone discover them through a partially-open door, or having to wait for someone to come unlock it and get them out. Not knowing when or if the cleaning lady would return, he decided not to risk getting locked in overnight.

“Not really,” he answered. “We’ll just be quiet.”  

She snorted indelicately, and he frowned at her. “I’ll believe it when it happens,” she giggled, and he shook his head in amusement. They were both pretty noisy, but in his mind, it was worth the risk. Surely he had enough self-control to keep it quiet for just one time.

  While he was pondering this, her hands were making quick work of the button fly on his jeans, opening them and shimmying them slightly down his hips until she could easily maneuver his boxers out of the way.

  He whimpered at the first touch of her hand on his flesh and she cast a withering glare up at him as she knelt in front of him. “If you can’t be quiet, we won’t do this now,” she hissed, and he nodded, biting his lip as she took him in her mouth and began sucking and licking with tender enthusiasm.  

He brought his fist up to his mouth and bit down, trying desperately not to respond to her verbally, and her chuckle vibrated through his skin when she glanced up through her eyelashes and saw him. The feeling wrenched a moan from his gut and she pulled away quickly, whispering urgently, “Wace! This is my job on the line! _Try!_ ”

There was nervous laughter in her voice, and he reached out, pulling her up to him and locking their mouths together.  

She whimpered softly with desire as his tongue played across hers, his hand finding her breast, and he pulled back, grinning cheekily.

“Quiet down, huh, teach?” he teased, and she scowled viciously, though her expression quickly faded to pleasure as he slipped a hand under her skirt, rucking the material up as his fingers climbed her thigh.  

“Where?” he asked against her temple as she leaned her face against his, her hot breaths skittering over his skin.  

“Where what?” she asked around a soft groan as his fingers slipped beneath the material of her panties.  

“Where’re we gonna do this?”  

She managed to open her eyes, looking around the little space they were in, and nodded toward a small area of bare wall between the shelf that held buckets and spray bottles and the rack where the mops and brooms hung. “There.”

  He nodded, maneuvering them so that she was backed up against the cream-colored plaster, and she sighed happily as he hoisted her up, her legs wrapping around his hips and her hands bracing on his shoulders to support her weight while he guided himself into her.  

She pressed her lips together tightly to stifle the sounds of pleasure that rose up in her throat as he began thrusting in a solid rhythm, leaning her head forward so it wouldn’t thump into the wall.  

One of his hands shot out to brace himself on the wall beside her, and he cursed colorfully as he accidentally knocked one of the mops loose, sending it flying straight into his head. “ _Fuck_!” he hissed as it clattered to the floor, and she lifted her head to look at him in concern.

  “You okay, baby?” she managed to whisper, and he bucked his hips forward, making her breath catch in her throat.  

“Fine,” he grunted, his teeth finding the tendon of her neck and biting down.  

“Gently,” she cautioned him breathlessly. “No marks.”  

“No marks,” he agreed with mock frustration.

She could tell he was as on the edge as she was, the adrenaline of not knowing if they’d be caught pushing the sensations higher, and she arched her torso to lean her head on his shoulder, catching the fabric of his shirt in her teeth to keep from crying out as he moved forcefully within her.  

“Jenny,” he whispered hoarsely, and there was a note to his voice that let her know he wanted her attention. She lifted her head, catching his eyes, and he leaned up, covering her mouth with his own as his hips surged forward strongly, guttural groans rising in his throat. She swallowed them all, answering with her own as she shattered with him.  

They were both panting for air, their bodies trembling as they came down from the pinnacle, and it took a little effort to get her back on her own two feet again. She slumped limply against the wall, her arms rubbing soothingly up and down his back as he leaned into her.

  “Fuck, that was good,” he breathed at her ear, and she chuckled weakly.  

“God, yes,” she agreed, nuzzling into his jaw. “I love you, baby.”  

In answer he lifted his head and pushed his fingers into her hair, meeting her in an open-mouthed kiss that drew a small whimper of pleasure from her throat. His hips arched into hers unconsciously and she hissed at the pressure, oversensitive from their lovemaking.  

“Sorry,” he whispered, pulling away from the kiss and tenderly tucking her hair behind her ear. He searched her eyes for a moment, smiling at the raw emotions he saw there. “I love you, Jenny.”

He gave her an incongruously chaste kiss on her lips and finally stepped away, tucking himself back into his boxers and jeans and then looking at her wrinkled skirt with amusement.  

She saw the direction of his gaze and grinned crookedly, still leaning weakly against the wall. “I’ll fix it in a second,” she assured him, one hand going out to support herself on the metal rack beside her head. She used the object to help pull herself upright, then tried to muffle a shriek when several plastic buckets and spray bottles came raining down on her.

  “Shit!” she cursed, her eyes going anxiously to the partially-open door as she smoothed her skirt with shaking hands. “Let’s go b’fore someone hears,” she whispered, and he nodded his agreement. She went to the door and pushed it further open slowly, peeking around to make sure no one was in the hallway. When she was certain the coast was clear, she slipped out with him right on her heels.  

They moved down the hall at a fast clip, and Jen had to stifle a giggle at the thought of what they’d just done. A sidelong glance at Wace’s expression revealed a smug smirk on his lips and her grin widened at the sight. They’d just about reached the door when a voice called Jen’s name from behind them, making them both jump.  

“Jen! Where ya headed?” asked a petite redhead as she came up to them.

  “Oh, just, uh, headed ta lunch,” Jen answered, knowing that the vivid blush that rose to her face was going to give her away if her disheveled appearance hadn't already done so. “Wace came ta get me, take me out.” She continued nervously, quickly, “Have you met Wace? Bridget, this is Wace Allan, my boyfriend - Wace, this is Bridget Manning. She teaches English, fourth year.”

  “Nice ta meet ya,” Wace nodded gruffly, the tension in his body clearly stating he wanted to keep moving.  

“You, too,” Bridget answered, her eyes glowing as she looked at Jen. “You guys have a nice... lunch,” she said, mirth in her voice, and Jen nodded as Wace began tugging her out the door.

“Thanks, Bridge!” she called over her shoulder just before the door closed behind them. Jen giggled madly and linked her hand with Wace’s, giddy with the aftershocks of pleasure and adrenaline.  

“Fuck,” he swore, and she looked up at him questioningly. “I’m fuckin’ starvin’ now...”  

She laughed openly, freely, and squeezed his fingers with hers. “Me too, baby,” she answered happily. “Me too.”  


	13. I Wonder As We Got This Far

She switched the bag of groceries from her hip back into her arms and from the doorway, she could see his long legs bent and twisting as he squirmed about under the cabinet. “I’m back,” she announced loudly as she closed the door behind her and walked the short distance into the kitchen.

Setting the bags down on the kitchen table with a heavy ‘thump,’ she pulled out a few things and reached over to the refrigerator to open the door. “Any luck?”  

She’d left him close to an hour ago in the exact position with him promising to make some headway by the time she got back, but from his noncommittal grunt, she was guessing that he hadn’t had a whole lot of progress. For a moment, she stood there, watching as his hand appeared, then reappeared several times from the inside cabinet, each time blindly reaching out to grab yet another tool from the pile strewn about him.   

A smile tugged at her lips and she turned to finish up with the groceries, laughing to herself every once in a while as a hollow-sounding curse traveled to her ears.

“There’s a parent-teacher meeting on Tuesday night,” she told him absently as she stuffed the head of broccoli into the vegetable bin. “I don’ really wanna do it; all the kids’re doing fine, but it’s a requirement ta have one every three months.”  

When he failed to comment in words yet again, she decided to give up on the small talk effort and get lunch started. Bread, lettuce, cheese, some mustard.

“Baby, do you want turkey or ham on your sandwich? Or do you want both?” she asked as she sliced through the tomato. “I got the shaved kind that ya like for both of ‘em.”  

Once more, there was no answer, only the sound of metal scraping against metal and the clunk of Wace’s boots as he moved his feet against the linoleum floor. Thinking that maybe he couldn’t even hear her jammed all the way up under the sink like he was, she stepped over the counter and squatted down, her hands resting atop the open cabinet door.  

“Wace - do you want turkey or ham sandwich?” she repeated, peering into the darkness and making out the frustrated expression in the shadows on his face.  

“All I want right now is for this fuckin’ sink ta stop _leakin’_ in my eye,” he spat out as he gave the wrench another vicious twist.  

She gave him a sympathetic look even though he wasn’t paying any attention and rested her chin on her knuckles, watching him fiddle with the pipes. “Why don’t ya just let me call somebody? They can come out ‘ere and -”

“I _said_ I could fix it, Jen,” he snapped, more determined than ever to get the sink in working order again now that she’d even _suggested_ calling in a professional.

He was mechanically inclined, dammit. This was his _thing_.  

She stood up then, already knowing her argument was half-useless, especially when he had his mind set on something. “I’m not sayin’ ya can’t, Wace, but is it something you really wanna spend your whole Saturday afternoon doin’?”  

“It’s not gonna _take_ me all afternoon,” she heard him say and she could picture his clenched jaw as he ground out the words.  

With a mild huff, she turned back to the table and finished making her own sandwich, leaving the fixings out in case he decided to take a break any time soon and get something to eat. Taking her plate and glass of tea into the living room, she sat down on the end of the couch, curling her feet beneath her and settling in for lunch.

Almost an hour and two chapters into her new _How To Start A Small Home Garden_ book later, she heard the triumphant laugh of her pipe-conquering hero and the resounding clank of his toolbox being shut.   

“D’ja get it?” she called out to him as she marked the page in her book and stood from the couch.   

“Yeah. Think so,” she heard him say as she rounded the corner to the kitchen and spotted him still sitting on the floor, arms draped over his bent knees, a self-satisfied grin threatening to take over his entire face as he waggled his eyebrows at her.

She shook her head at his mild antics and nodded her head toward the sink. “Bravo,” she offered with a grin as she clapped her hands together.   

“How could you ever doubt me?” he joked lightly as he pushed himself to his feet. He turned on the faucet and washed his hands quickly.  

“Oh, I never doubted you for a second,” she laughed, shaking her head as she walked over to him, placing a kiss on his cheek before stepping back and giving him a warm smile, taking both of his wet hands in hers. “I was just getting jealous that a certain tool kit an’ pair of pipes were getting to spend more time with you than me.”

“Was that it?” he asked quietly, unable to keep himself from smiling back as he brought his lips down to kiss her.   

“Mmm-hmm,” she started as he pulled away. “So? What does this mighty warrior want in return for his defeat of the atrocious pipes of doom?”

“Well, I was just gonna ask if you’d make me a turkey sandwich, but since ya put what I did in _those_ terms, I’m beginnin’ ta think I might be able ta get a little more outta the deal if I try hard enough,” he answered, a wicked grin sliding across his lips.   

She leaned up once more, kissing him quickly and slipping her arms around his neck before she fell back down to the pads of her feet. “Oh, I think we might be able to come to an agreement on some things. _If_ you try hard enough,” she grinned, leaning into him.  

His eyes flitted down to the long kitchen counter they were standing beside and a grin slowly crept onto his face, evidence of the wheels beginning to turn in his head. When he looked back at her, he could tell that she’d been thinking pretty much along the same tracks.  

His fingers danced teasingly across her waist as he murmured, “How ‘bout if –”

“Yeah,” she interrupted, practically purring as she grinned mischievously at him.   

He brought his mouth down to hers, his hands finding their way under the hem of her shirt to the warm skin where her waist dipped in just below her ribs, and began coaxing her toward the counter. She was wonderfully cooperative, though they had to break the kiss for a moment when her back hit the countertop to lift her onto the surface.

She gave a low, sexy laugh of delight as he moved to stand between her knees, pulling her forward into him. Her position put her slightly above him so he had to tilt his head up to kiss her, and her long dark hair fell over her shoulders, brushing against his face. She traced the taut line of his throat with her fingertips as their mouths moved together, urgency creeping into their movements as the fire began to burn hotter between them.  

He abandoned her mouth in favor of placing fervent kisses on her neck and she whimpered as his tongue played across the sensitive skin there.   

“ _Shit_ ,” she hissed, and he hummed questioningly into her throat. “Hope I remembered t’ lock the front door...”  

He pulled back momentarily in alarm, and she frowned at the loss of contact, reaching for him.

“D’ya want me ta go check?” he asked, and she shook her head, her expression clearly stating she questioned his sanity for such a suggestion.

“Hell, no,” she responded, her hands reaching for his shirt and pulling it up over his head, her eyes and fingers delighting in his tanned chest. “If anybody’s brave enough to walk in uninvited, they deserve a fine view of your naked ass.”  

He grinned rakishly at that and pulled her head down for another kiss as she began to demonstrate just how unconcerned she was at the idea of being discovered by nosy neighbors.  


	14. And I Love Your Company, Stay For A While

The knock on the door made Jen look up from the article on early childhood education that she was reading and glance toward the door in puzzlement. Tucking the red pen she’d been using behind her ear, she pushed away from her desk and padded softly toward the front door.

“Hello?” she called out as she approached, pausing to listen for an answer.  

“It’s me, Jenny,” a muffled voice answered from the other side, and she smiled with happy surprise as she swung the door open.  

“Wace! What are you doin’ here?” she asked as he stepped into the foyer and she leaned up to give him a kiss on his cheek. “I didn’t expect ta see you t’night...”  

“Just thought I’d stop by t’ say ‘ello on my way home from work,” he answered. “Haven’t seen ya in a coupla days.”

His hands went to her waist, holding her in place as he gave her a lingering kiss high on her cheek, by her ear, and stayed there for a moment, breathing in her scent.

“Do I smell good?” she asked softly, warm teasing in her tone, and he chuckled, nodding against her head as he inhaled again.

“Y’smell like coconuts,” he murmured before pulling away and kissing her eyebrow.

“You hungry?” she asked immediately, turning toward the kitchen. “I can make you some dinner...”  

“Crazy woman,” he grinned. “Always tryin’ ta fuckin’ feed me. Tryin’ ta make me fat or somethin’.”

“I don’t feed you _that_ much,” she argued, crossing her arms.  

“Ya feed me s’damn much I hadta get a second job just ta make sure I was workin’ it all off,” he answered, faltering when a cloud passed over her face.

She hadn’t been exactly thrilled when he’d told her he’d taken a second job at the shipyard, and though she’d been supportive, it still wasn’t something she liked. His time and energy weren’t nearly as abundant as they had been, and she didn’t see him as much now. But there were bills to pay, and Barky couldn’t seem to hold down a job for more than a few months at a time.   

He’d had started working at a video store with his friend Wayne and that seemed like it was going to work out, but he was always complaining about how boring it was and how it didn’t pay shit. Wace had listened to his winging until he’d had enough and finally lit into him about how if he wanted a better job he’d have to learn some work ethic and actually finish something he started once in awhile.  

The fight had ended with Barky storming out of the house and going over to Wayne’s and Wace heading to the King’s Hotel for shots and pool with Coppa and Trunny. Wace'd told her he figured that next time, he might as well just go straight to the Hotel and skip the lecture for all the good it did.  

“Well if that’s the way you’re gonna be about it,” Jen rejoined haughtily, drawing his mind back to the present, “I just won’t give ya any of that coconut pie I got coolin’ on the counter.”  

“So I really _did_ smell coconut,” he said with a hint of triumph.

“Yep, wasn’t just the shampoo this time,” she grinned. “You want some pie?”  

“Sure... but I can’t stay long, Jenny.”  

“Why not?” she asked as she headed down the hallway toward the kitchen, him trailing a few feet behind her. “You got clean clothes in the drawer, right?”

“Yeah, but I gotta get home. Dad’s workin’ late t’night, an’ ‘e’ll be hungry when ‘e gets home. Somebody’s gotta feed ‘im.”

“Barky can’t do it?” she ventured mildly, and he snorted.  

“Not fuckin’ likely,” he answered. “Last time ‘e tried it didn’t turn out so good. Bark can’t cook worth shit; can’t keep ‘is mind in one place long enough.”  

“He _is_ a little... flighty,” Jen admitted with a smile. “You think your dad would like some pie? You could take him a slice,” she suggested as she handed Wace his own piece on a plate, then turned to retrieve a fork from the silverware drawer.  

He took the utensil from her and cut off a huge bite. “Mmm,” Wace hummed through his mouthful of coconut cream. “‘E don’t really like sweets tha’ much.”  

She laughed and reached up to brush a coconut flake away from his mouth. “You musta not taken after ‘im there, then,” she grinned. “You got a sweet tooth bigger ‘n Napoleon’s ego.”  

He swallowed the bite in his mouth and leaned down to kiss her, the stickiness on his lips making a smacking sound as he pulled away. “Flattery, woman. It’ll get ya in trouble ev’rytime.”  

She chuckled as she leaned in close to him and opened her mouth in a wordless plea to be fed. His eyebrow arched sharply and he grumbled about it, but he did cut off a tiny bite and slide it between her lips.

“Get your own damn pie,” he muttered as she sucked the sweetness off the tines of the fork.  

“You serious about flattery gettin’ me in trouble?” she purred suggestively, entirely ignoring his last comment.

“Yeah, but not t’night,” he answered with some regret, polishing off the last bite of pie in record time and setting the plate and fork down on the kitchen counter. “Ain’t got time for it. Dad wouldn’t much like hearin’ he didn’t get ‘is supper ‘cause I let m’self get distracted by some damn fine woman.”  

She pouted a little playfully, but nodded her understanding, leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss him briefly. “All right, well, I’ll take a rain check this time,” she conceded, and he pulled her back for another kiss, this one a little longer than the last.

“You taste really good,” she sighed as they parted and he shook his head, brushing his nose against hers.  

“Don’ go playin’ dirty, Jenny,” he grinned. “It won’t get ya anywhere but frustrated.”  

She huffed as her lips pressed against his face through his stubble. “One o’ these days, remind me t’ give Barky cookin’ lessons,” she grumbled, and he snorted indelicately.  

“I wouldn’t put my worst enemy through that,” he answered. “He’d burn your kitchen down.”  

“Then I’d just have to beat ‘im t’ death,” she responded. “Cause I like my kitchen.”  

Wace went still for a moment and she felt an icy splash of guilt in her stomach as she realized what she’d said. She’d completely forgotten for a moment about what she’d been told about their father; it was very possible that, though she’d meant it as a joke, it was too close to the truth.  

“Sorry,” she whispered, and he shook his head.

“S’okay,” he answered, kissing the bridge of her nose. “But I gotta go.”

“Okay,” she conceded, grabbing his hand and squeezing it in farewell as he began to walk backwards out of the kitchen. “Love you.”  

“Love you too, Jenny,” he answered, brushing one last kiss across her lips before he released her hand and turned and walked from the room.

She watched him through the archway as he left, closing the door behind him without looking back. With a heavy sigh, she turned and moved his dirty plate into the sink, turning on the tap to run water over it.   She watched the pattern of the water for a moment before she turned the faucet off again and made her way back to her article, reaching up for the pen behind her ear and trying to refocus her attention on the words she’d been reading.


	15. Took Some Time To Realize I've Fallen

“Move over.”

A loud grumble of complaint sounded when Jen nudged her elbow into Wace’s head, thoroughly waking him from his nap.

“What the...?” he started, scooting over as he was told, while trying to rub the sleep from his eyes and stifle a yawn at the same time. “Why can’t ya just sit in the chair?”  

Letting out a moan as she stretched out on top of him, Jen shook her head sadly, making a face of absolute pain as she went. “I don’ like the chair when I’m feelin’ like this,” she pouted.   

“Like what?” he asked, adjusting himself on the couch so that she was in a comfortable position on his chest.

“My stomach’s bloody killin’ me,” came a pitiful whine as she turned on her side and scrunched her face up in time with the cramping. “My back hurts, too - _and_ my head.”

“Guess I’ll hafta take care o’ myself t’night, then,” Wace kidded, letting an evil smirk fall over his lips and hoping that she didn’t catch it.  

Whether she saw it or not, she’d heard it in his voice and gave him a good whack on his stomach for the remark.

“You _bastard_ ,” she breathed heavily, not wanting to expend any more energy on punishing her wisecracking boyfriend. Instead, she brought her head to rest on his muscled shoulder and let her body slide down between his and the back of the couch.   

“M’sorry,” he apologized, sincerity in his voice. “Ya need me ta do anythin’ for ya?”

“You can shoot me," came the mumbled reply, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“I don’ think I’ll be doin’ that anytime soon. How ‘bout I just rub your head or somethin’?”

No answer was heard other than an unidentifiable grunt, so he took it as a ‘yes’ and let his fingers wind their way through her hair and down to her scalp. As he worked the tips of his digits against the skin beneath her hair, he let himself close his eyes and get lost in the sound of the moans of pleasure he was eliciting from her.  

“That feels s’good,” she just managed to slur out, already beginning to succumb to the sleep that had been calling to her.

“Ya want me ta get ya some medicine or anything?” he asked, working his fingers all over her head and down to her neck.  

“Don’t you dare move,” she ordered, forcing her voice into coherency to let him know that she meant business. “‘Sides, I took some a little bit ago - I’m just waitin’ for it ta kick in.”

He felt her head loll back limply in his hand and smiled when he heard her start to moan more insistently.  

“God - just like that.”  

“A little bit harder?” he breathed seductively toward her ear, thoroughly enjoying the way the encounter was slowly turning.

He let his other hand slip down to her waist and his nimble fingers gently massaged away some of the ache in her muscles.   Too lost in the feel of what he was doing to play along with his game, Jen just nodded her head and let herself relax even more into his comforting arms.   Seeing that she was more interested in taking a nap than venturing into any mild sexual dalliances, he settled into a soothing rhythm with his fingers once more, completely forgetting that she’d interrupted his nap.

For long moments they lay there, her breathing softly against his chest while his fingers roamed her body innocently, touching, trying to ease away the dull pain.   

Suddenly uncomfortable with the way she was lying, Jen shifted with a mildly-aggravated grunt at having to perform the action. Sliding her leg up to where her knee rubbed against his stomach, she moved it back down, this time, entwining her leg with his, letting her foot run along the inside length of his calf.   

Unable to stifle a groan when her knee came into contact with a more-than-sensitive bulge in the front of his jeans, Wace let his hand wander a little higher, finally finding the swell of her breasts and giving one of them a slight squeeze.  

Grinning sleepily, Jen rubbed her leg a little harder, knowing somewhere in the haze of the back of her mind exactly what she was doing, but too tired to really execute anything. With a drawn-out yawn, she stretched her entire body out against his, almost cat-like in manner, then let herself relax into his embrace once again.   Wace waited for a few moments to see if she was going to do anything else, but when it became apparent that she wasn’t, he tilted his head over and tried to get a good look at her face. Her eyes were closed, mouth slightly open, breathing deep and even.  

Was she asleep?  

 _No-fuckin-way_ he thought, frowning openly at the possibility.

Glancing down at prominent swelling at the front of his pants, then back to the girl who was currently snoozing in his arms, he sighed. There wasn’t even a way he could take care of himself with the way his arm was tucked up under her body.   Lifting it just a half an inch caused a loud groan of protest to escape from Jen’s lips and he quickly abandoned the effort as she wrapped her arms even tighter around his middle - effectively trapping his free arm to his side - and snuggled deeper into his shoulder.   

Sighing, he closed his eyes and tried to think his current state away, not even noticing the lazy smile that crept languidly across her face.   

“You need some help, baby?” she murmured softly, letting her hand ease away from his side and trail slowly down his stomach as she spoke.  

He bit back a hiss when her fingers brushed lightly against the fabric of his jeans, the touch sending fire all along his nerve endings. “That’d be real nice, yeah,” he said in a strained voice, barely suppressing the urge to just take her hand and move it the way he wanted it to go.  

More awake than she had been just seconds ago, she grinned then scooted herself up a little higher along beside him and moved her lips gently across the edge of his ear. “Shh,” she whispered quietly, letting her warm breath wash over his skin and enjoying the shuddering effect it had over him.   

Slowly, tortuously, she moved her hand over him, sliding it up the inside of his thigh and letting it rest just below the bottom of his zipper. She heard him blow out a ragged breath and smiled once more as she brought her hand up and over the noticeable hardness and stopped at his waistband.   Inhaling deeply into his neck, she closed her eyes, enjoying the scent of her own soap that coated his skin, feeling as if it marked him as hers somehow.   

“I bet you’re tired from work today,” she mumbled lazily into his ear, using her best ‘sexy voice’ and she felt him nodding slightly in answer. She worked her fingers over the button to his jeans and felt it come undone with a satisfying ‘snap.’ “Sorry I woke you up.”  

“S’fine,” he drawled out, his breathing more prominent than the words themselves. “You uh...you feelin’ any better?”

He didn’t know why he felt like talking at that moment, other than she had always had that strange effect on him.

She kissed his earlobe, letting it fall gently between her open lips. Giving it a light tug with her teeth, she ran her tongue over the tip and flicked it back and forth in her mouth. “Lots,” she answered, keeping her mouth around him as she spoke, and sliding his zipper down quickly to accentuate the word.

“Good,” he managed to squeak out, the word escaping just as he came free from his jeans. He let out a relieved sigh and felt his eyelids flutter closed. “Tha’s real good,” he added on breathlessly, both of them knowing he wasn’t referring to the answer to his question anymore.  

“Is it?” she taunted gently, sliding her hand inside the waistband of his boxers and letting the tips of her fingers brush across the heated skin she found there.   

Before he could answer her last question - though she imagined that he’d just slipped past the edge of forming coherent sentences - she raised her head, urging his down to face her and let her lips sink onto his as her hand fully grasped his length. She felt him moan into her mouth and couldn’t keep herself from squeezing a little more tightly around him.   

Sliding her tongue effortlessly between his lips, she licked at him, keeping time with her hand and releasing her own moans as she felt him inch his fingers up to her breast.

Pulling away - both of them catching their breath in quick pants - she let her mouth trail slowly down his chin, enjoying the rub of his five o’clock shadow against the smooth skin of her face. Feeling the steady thrum of his pulse in the vein on his neck, she nuzzled softly into him there, dragging her tongue over his flesh, encouraging the blood to beat faster as she quickened the pace of her hand.  

“Jenny,” she heard him gasp, feeling the rumbling vibrations in his throat as he spoke.

She grinned, closing her mouth around the soft, salty skin of his neck and sucked lightly, grazing her teeth over him and careful that she wouldn’t leave a mark.

“Oh, God...” came a muffled cry as he pulled her hand forward with the jolt of his hips, his arm that was pinned beneath her squeezing her tightly to him.  

She kept her fingers on him loosely, marveling at the feel of the thick flesh in her hand as it throbbed in perfect time with the skin pulsating beneath her tongue. As he rode out the last of the waves crashing through his body, she gradually slid her hand from him, letting it flutter softly across his stomach. She grinned at the jump of his skin when she ran across his ticklish spot.   Giving his throat one last nip before she pulled away, she looked up at him, seeing that he was staring back down at her under hooded eyelids.   

“Maybe I should give you a head rub more often, then, huh?” he said sleepily and she fell into a fit of girlish laughter as she cuddled herself deeper into his side.

He nudged her off of him gently after a few moments and pulled his body up to sit on the side of the couch, ignoring her short whine of protest. “I’ll be back in a sec,” he whispered as he shuffled down the hall, still-unbuttoned pants hanging loosely around his hips.   

Her eyes fell closed as she listened to the sound of the water running and then the soft knock of the cabinet door closing. Rolling over onto her back, she held her slightly sticky hand up off her chest and waited for him to get back before she made a move to clean herself off.  

“Here,” she heard him say quietly and she realized she must’ve fallen asleep in that short amount of time.

She hadn’t heard him turn the water off, or pad down the hall back to the living room. Her eyes fluttered open as he took her hand in his, wiping it gently with the damp washcloth he’d brought back with him. She felt herself smiling, though it wasn’t a conscious action, and puckered her lips as she lifted her head towards him.

Readily obliging her, he leaned down to meet her in a quick kiss as he worked the rag between her fingers, making sure he got everything off of her hand.   Somewhere in her mind, just before she was completely dragged off to oblivion, she registered him getting up from his knees to leave once more. Before he could lay her hand down, she curled her fingers around his, holding him in place for a moment until she started to pull weakly at him, urging him to settle in with her once more.  

“Hang on,” he said with a quiet laugh as he dropped the rag, figuring the light-colored carpet was safe anyway.

Scooting her over with both of his hands, he slid down on the couch then pulled her back so she was laying half on top of him again. She let out a small noise that he’d come to recognize as her miserably failing to fight off sleep and he kissed her on top of her head, letting his mouth linger in her soft hair.


	16. Take Me Home

“Y’don’t mind that ‘e didn’t smile for the picture?”  

Jen turned to Barky as he sat down on the bench beside her, arching her eyebrow at him in amusement. Lanny had snapped a picture of her and Wace eating watermelon at the picnic table, and while Jen had been grinning from ear to ear, Lanny hadn’t been able to coax a smile out of Wace for anything, which had only made Jen laugh harder.  

Wace _hated_ pictures; said he didn’t see the use in pretending that he was enjoying himself. He’d done it for her, but only once, and since he’d told her he didn’t like it, she hadn’t asked him again. She wondered if Barky didn’t know that quirk about his brother... or if he just didn’t particularly care.

“Nah. I see ‘im smile lots of other times.” She glanced over her shoulder to get a visual on Wace but didn’t see him anywhere around at the moment.

Barky made a gruff sound, kicking at the dirt with his tennis shoe. “I never do,” he said quietly.

Jen bit her lip, not wanting to get into the underlying tension that always seemed to run between the brothers. She could see Barky’s point of view, but - well, Wace was her boyfriend. She smiled as she realized that that thought still made her a little giddy, even after almost three years of dating. God, had it been that long?

She decided to lighten Barky’s suddenly blue mood and bumped his shoulder lightly, saying in a mock whisper, “I would hope you never see ‘im smile the way _I_ do.”

He tilted his head, not understanding, and she gave him a significant look.

She couldn’t help giggling at the way Barky’s ears turned pink as he figured out what she meant and he cleared his throat.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he admitted. “I’m glad I don’t see ‘im then, either.”

Just then, Lanny came rushing by, tapping Barky on the shoulder. “We’re gonna go play volleyball. You comin’?”

“Yeah,” Barky said immediately. “You, Jen?” he asked, turning to her.  

“Nah,” she smiled. “I’d make the team uneven, and I doubt Wace’ll play.”  

Barky nodded and leapt from the bench to join Lanny, Coppa, and Trunny over by the raggedy volleyball net in the park. Jen twisted around in her seat, narrowly avoiding getting her elbow in one of the leftover watermelon rinds, looking for Wace. He was walking up from the wastebaskets, brushing his hands against each other. He’d gone to throw away the empty condiment bottles and other various rubbish from the picnic.

She smiled as she watched him over her shoulder, and when he finally looked up and caught her gaze, the corners of his eyes crinkled just a little. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was close.  

“Hey,” he said in a low voice as he reached her, swinging one long leg over the bench and straddling it, facing her.

“Hi,” she returned warmly, scooting so that she was closer to him, sitting in the cradle of his thighs, her shoulder resting against his chest. “Havin’ a good day?”  

“Now I am,” he murmured, his arms going around her shoulders to hold her.  

“Oooh, feeling romantic today, are we?”  

He snorted indelicately, the sound loud so close by her ear, but she just chuckled and turned her head so she could rest her forehead against his jaw.  

“Nah, I’m just tryin’ to get in your pants,” he joked, one of his hands sliding down to grab her ass, making his point.  

She laughed, slapping his hand away. “Trust me, you don’t have to try hard,” she grinned.  

“You sayin’ my girlfriend’s a fast woman?” he asked with mock offense.

“I’m sayin’ you’re irresistible,” she corrected.

Her lips brushed against his jaw, feeling the slight roughness there where a five o’clock shadow would be growing very shortly. She chuckled when his hands tightened on her, and she leaned her head back, smiling sanguinely up at him.

He lowered his head to brush her lips chastely with his own and she sighed with contentment. “I love you,” she murmured, so quietly that he barely heard her.  

In answer, he pressed his lips more firmly against hers, his fingers gripping her waist -- just in that ticklish spot underneath her ribs, too, but no way was she going to move his hand -- as she opened her mouth and brought her hand up to the back of his head, her fingers fisting lightly in his hair. She moaned softly and her entire form seemed to melt into his.   

He kissed her deeply, leisurely exploring her mouth, and the rest of the world began to fade away. The shouts of his friends playing volleyball became nothing more than white noise, the golden afternoon sunshine warming his shoulders in an echo of the feelings Jen was waking in his chest. Finally, reluctantly, he gentled the kiss, closing his eyes against the overwhelming emotions that threatened to choke him with pleasure.  

“I love you, Jenny,” he sighed, his lips brushing her face as they moved. “So much.”

She brought their mouths together again, hungrily inviting, but their kiss was cut short by the unmistakable sounds of catcalls from the volleyball court. Laughing, Jen turned her head so she could just make out the forms of their friends over Wace’s arm, tucking her nose into the sleeve of his shirt.

Trunny called out some outrageously ribald comment while Barky applauded and Coppa gave them two thumbs-up. Lanny cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “You go, girl!” at Jen, much to her amusement.  

In response, Wace moved the arm that was curled around Jen’s back, shifting his hand from her thigh just long enough to make an obscene gesture at the group. The four of them just laughed harder, and Lanny gave Jen one more thumbs-up before they resumed their game, leaving the two unlikely lovebirds at the picnic table to their own devices.  


	17. Just For The Moment, Mercy Has Swayed

It was the snore that first tipped her off.

She hadn’t been watching him very closely as she’d been recounting the adventures of Marita, one of her first-graders, and the Mystery of the Disappearing Pencils. It seemed that the pretty little six-year-old never had a pencil when she needed to take a test or complete an assignment, despite the fact that Jen gave her at least one No. 2 Yellow a day.  

Wace had come over after his shift at the shipping yard was over, having already put in an early shift at Nick’s garage that morning, and had been sprawled on her couch, listening to her classroom stories. He’d told her about the lady who had brought her car in to Nick’s that morning describing an odd “clunking” sound in the gas tank. The woman had been all aflutter, thinking that maybe there was a huge diamond concealed in her car (it was obvious she’d been watching too many Dean Jones flicks), but it turned out to just be one of her four-year-old’s tin soldiers.  

Wace had managed to get it out with much frustration, sweat, and scalding curses muttered under his breath, then told her to please be sure to not let her son play near an open gas tank.  

They both had cups of hot tea, Jen sitting in her chair across from the couch, her feet tucked up under her, simply enjoying this time. Since Wace had started working two jobs, they didn’t see each other as much as they had been, and though he was positively exhausted this evening, he’d insisted on coming to see her.

Knowing how hard he’d worked all day, it wasn’t really a surprise to her when a light snore interrupted her tale of how they’d discovered all of Marita’s missing pencils in Jonathan DeMarco’s desk, and how Jen had then been faced with the task of explaining to Marita that it was only because Jonathan liked her that he’d been stealing her pencils. She stopped mid-sentence, a fond smile curling up her lips at the sight of her lover’s slack mouth, his head leaning back against the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him.

Quietly, she picked up the book that was resting on the end table beside her chair, flipping it open to her bookmark with the intentions of finishing the chapter she’d started just before Wace had shown up. After reading two paragraphs and realizing she hadn’t retained a word of it, though, she tucked the mark gently between the pages and let the book fall closed in her lap, picking up her cup of tea and letting her gaze linger on the figure on her couch as she sipped.  

She didn’t know how long they remained in that still, peaceful tableau, but when he finally startled himself awake, the late afternoon light outside was beginning to fade into a red sunset and the tea beside her chair was undrinkably cold.  

He sat up quickly and looked around, momentarily disoriented.   

“Hi,” she said softly, and his eyes snapped to her. She saw the moment when he remembered where he was, and why, and smiled.

“Hey,” he answered, a little relief in his voice as he scrubbed his hands over his face. “Shit, Jen, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asked, still unable to take her gaze from him as he blinked the remaining sleep from his eyes.   

“Passin’ out on ya,” he mumbled, pushing himself further upright, and she shrugged. He caught sight of the book in her lap and asked idly, “Get some readin’ done?”

“Not much,” she answered honestly, putting the book on the end table and uncurling her legs, echoing his pose.

He tilted his head as if to ask what she’d been doing if she hadn’t been reading, and she smiled.

“I was just enjoyin’ watchin’ ya sleep.”  

He looked away, embarrassed, and color brushed his cheekbones. “Bugger,” he said with dry humor. “Hope I didn’t fuckin’ drool on m’self...”  

She laughed and shook her head. “Not that I noticed,” she said, standing up. “You hungry? I could make us some supper.”  

“Uh...” His eyes darted around the room, and she frowned a little, wondering why he was hesitating. “I, uh, I’d love t’eat, but I should prolly be gettin’ home.”  

She nodded her understanding, a little disappointed, and tucked her fingers into her pockets, letting her hands rest casually on her hips. “All right,” she started but was interrupted by the sharp jangling of the phone.

Turning to retrieve it, she cast a sharp glance over her shoulder at him and said, “Lemme get this b’fore ya leave, kay?”

He nodded his agreement, already looking around for the keys he’d put somewhere when he’d come in, and she picked up the telephone receiver. “H’lo?”

“Oh, hey Jen. It’s Barky, Wace’s brother.”

She smiled a little to herself; Barky always introduced himself as “Wace’s brother” despite the fact that she’d told him before that she knew who he was without that qualifier.  

“Hey, Barky,” she said warmly, noticing how Wace’s head snapped up at that.  

They exchanged the normal pleasantries and before Barky asked casually, “Wace still there?”  

“Yeah, he is,” Jen answered, grinning when Wace’s countenance darkened briefly at obviously being the topic of conversation. “D’ya wanna talk to ‘im?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Barky said and Jen silently handed the phone to Wace.  

“Yeah?” Wace barked into the receiver.

Jen hid a smile at his gruffness, but her expression quickly faded to curious concern when his brow furrowed almost immediately.

“You sure?”

He sounded afraid to hope, and now Jen was really intrigued.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Hey - um, thanks.”

He hung up without bothering with a ‘goodbye,’ and Jen tilted her head, waiting to see what was going on, or if he would tell her.  

He turned around, a look of uncertainty on his features, and said unnecessarily, “Tha’ was Bark. ‘E said that Dad’s gone out for a while, prob’ly gettin’ pissed, an’, uh, so I don’t hafta go home like I was thinkin’.”  

“Oh?” Jen asked, half thrilled that he wasn’t leaving and half wondering why his dad's choice to go out drinking would affect whether Wace was able to spare an hour to eat dinner.

“Yeah - I was gonna go help Dad wi’ some stuff ‘e said ‘e wanted ta move - told ‘im I would - but since ‘e’s gone, now I don’t hafta.”

Jen smiled at the explanation, knowing he’d done it for her. He rarely ever explained himself to anyone at all, and she appreciated that he had taken that effort for her. Going over to him, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek affectionately.  

“So,” she smiled. “Does that mean you’ll stay for supper?”  

“Depends,” he smirked, his hands going to her hips to anchor her in place. “What ya got planned?”  

“So now you gotta see a menu b’fore you’ll ‘ave dinner with me?” Jen teased, and he nodded.  

She thought about being flip, coming up with something wild and off-the-wall that he would never eat, but she could still see the tiredness in him, in the way his eyes were duller than normal and the quietness to his voice, as if he couldn’t be bothered to speak up. In the end, she decided she would cut him a break this time.

“Well, I’ll ‘ave to see what I’ve got in the larder,” she said honestly, “But I think I can promise some kind o’ chook, maybe a vegetable or two, an’ - if you’re _really_ nice, maybe I’ll cut ya a slice o’ the cherry tart I made this afternoon.”  

“Cherry?” he asked, perking up a little, and she nodded, grinning in pleasure at his obvious enthusiasm for the option she’d laid out. “Well, I dunno. I guess maybe I can choke down a bite ’r two,” he drawled.  

“Cheeky,” she rebuked him mildly, and he leaned down to give her a chaste kiss on the lips.  

“Now go on an’ make me dinner, woman,” he ordered, pushing her lightly away from him and toward the kitchen. “You can kiss me later.”  

Rolling her eyes, she strolled into the kitchen, pulling her apron off a hook on the wall and slipping it over her head, tying it nimbly around her small waist. “You keep talkin’ like that, big man, you won’t be gettin’ kisses from me for a long damn while.”  

“I ain’t worried,” he grinned, sinking down into the chair she’d recently vacated and leaning his head back, closing his eyes again. “You couldn’t make it two days without kissin’ me.”  

She poked her head out of the kitchen just so he could see her eyebrow arch sharply, but it was lost on him as he still hadn’t opened his eyes. She saw the way his body seemed to go boneless with exhaustion, and she smiled fondly as she noticed his breathing begin to slow, his chest rising and falling in a subtle rhythm.  

Shaking her head, she returned to her task, trying not to rattle the pans too much and offering a fleeting prayer that he have sweet dreams.


	18. It's Never For Nothing

The laughter that filled the living room was so loud and abrupt that Barky almost let the already-sweating bottles of beer slip from his arms as he brought them out of the refrigerator. Must’ve been quite a punch line, though he hadn’t been in the house long enough to hear the joke itself - as soon as he’d stepped through the door from being out with Lanny, his father had sent him on a beer and crackers run to the kitchen.   

Two of the men sitting in the room he’d recognized, they worked at the welding shop with his father and he’d seen them on the few times he’d gotten to visit the garage where they all worked. There was another one sitting in the corner that he vaguely thought he might know, but didn’t give it much more thought than that as he reached into the cupboard and pulled out a box of saltines.

The laughter had quieted down considerably as he made his way back into the sitting area, both arms loaded down with drinks and snacks that were promptly removed by grabbing hands.  

“D’ja get any o’ that cheese spread, Barky?” his father asked without looking up at him. His mind was too focused on twisting the cap off his beer bottle while trying to stuff a wafer into his mouth.  

Barky shook his head, already turning to head into the kitchen once more. “No, I’ll go back an’ get it,” he said quickly over his shoulder.  

Before he reached the hall, though, he was stopped by one of the men calling out to him.  

“‘ey, aren’t you the little runt that useta run around the floor at the shop, tryin’ ta stick anything ‘e could in ‘is mouth?” the older man asked with a gruff bark of laughter.   

Barky turned, a half-smile spreading across his face as the man, obviously the character of the bunch, instantly immersed himself into a story telling of how he’d had to rescue the young toddler from eating a pile of greasy bolts when his mother’d brought him by the shop one day, and sent all the men into fits of laughter again.  

Barky even found himself laughing, leaning casually up against the wall as the same man went on to tell another story of how his own son had come into the shop and damn near burned all of his hair off when he’d gotten a hold of one of the blow torches.

“Kid never did listen,” he commented absently, draining what was left of his beer and setting the can on the coffee table with a hollow ‘clank.’  

“Speakin’ o’ kids that never listen - when are ya gonna get your ass movin’ into th’ kitchen and get me the fuckin’ cheese spread?”  

His head immediately snapped up from where he’d focused on the storyteller and his eyes shot over to his father, who was staring at him with a more than aggravated expression. Without so much as a nod, he took off for the kitchen, his hands shaking as he searched through the packages of lunch meat and sour milk for the little glass jar of cheese spread that his father had been asking for. He finally spotted it, all the way in the back behind the jar of pickles, and he brought it quickly back out to the living room and handed it to his father.  

Without a glimmer of acknowledgement, the old man jerked the jar out of his hand, opening it with a few sharp twists and setting it down in the middle of the table.

Barky stood there awkwardly for a moment, listening as the chatter turned to things he had nothing to do with and he suddenly felt more out of place than he had before. Slowly backing away, he made his exit unnoticed and slid into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.   

The thin walls to his room afforded no protection against the sound happening twenty feet away and he started to cover his ears with his pillow when he heard the front door opening as Wace got in from work.

Barky didn’t even bother to try and tamp down the bitterness he felt rising within him as he listened to his father go on and on to ‘Jeff’ about how Wace had gotten a promotion at the shipping yard to assistant crew leader - ‘ _just two ranks below runnin’ the whole show._ ’

Even though he had an idea that his father’s rambling to one of his friends probably had more to do with making his own self look good, rather than Wace, he still took the opportunity to spread the resentment out a little further. Most of it was an exaggeration anyway. His promotion had equaled more work and responsibility, but hadn’t translated much in the way of a pay increase.

There was a soft knock at his door that he barely heard over the laughter that was still going on in the living room. He lifted his head from his arms, craning his neck at an awkward angle to see Wace poking his head through the door.

“‘ey, me an’ Copp’re goin’ out ta see a show in town - you wanna go?”  

“No,” he answered with a huff, dropping his head back to rest on his fists.  

He heard the door close softly and the sound of Wace’s footsteps as they neared the bed where he’d plopped down a few minutes ago.

“Wha’s wrong with you?”  

Still not looking up at him, he shrugged his shoulders - or tried to, rather - and shook his head.  

“Nothin’, just got my ass chewed on by Dad is all,” he explained tiredly, still reeling from being called out in front of all the older men. He felt like a child being punished in sight of all of his friends and his cheeks burned hot with anger at the all-too-familiar feeling.  

“What’d ya do?” Wace asked, and Barky immediately bristled at how he’d automatically assumed that he’d been the cause of it all.

“I didn’t fuckin’ do anything,” he shot back, turning over quickly to see his brother looming above him with a heavy frown. “‘e just started yellin’ at me.”  

Not exactly in the mood to have an argument right then, Wace tried to hold off giving him a pointed look, knowing that it would only set his little brother off even further than he already was, but some of it must’ve slipped through because Barky just stood up from the bed and let out a huff as he folded his arms across his chest.   

“I dunno why ya gotta make thing’s s’difficult on yourself,” Wace sighed with a slight shake of his head. He really did feel bad for the kid, but as long as he went on about things in his own way, there wasn’t anything that could be done.   

“Yeah, well, maybe if I didn’t ‘ave the most absolutely _perfect_ brother in the world, it wouldn’t be so hard, now would it?” Barky fired back, knowing how ridiculous his statement sounded the entire time he said it, but not even caring a bit.   

“Oh, Jesus Christ - don’ gimme that bullshit, Barky,” he laughed, letting his hands slap loudly against his thighs.  

“It ain’t fuckin’ bullshit, Wace. Nothin’ I do is ever gonna be good enough for ‘im, so why even bother?”  

“Newsflash for ya, retard,” he said with a lowered voice, leaning in to his brother’s face, his dark eyebrow arched with mild aggravation. “Nothin’ anybody ever does is gonna be good enough for Dad. ‘e’d fuckin’ find somethin’ wrong with the pearly gates next ta Saint Peter.”  

“Guess I missed the flyer that went out on that then.”  

The sarcasm bit into Wace like a snake and he felt his anger start to rise. Sometimes he didn’t know why he even bothered trying with Barky if the kid was just gonna throw everything out that he told him.   “Well excuse me for givin’ ya too much credit. Here I was thinkin’ that maybe you’d’ve gotten how this system works figured out by now, I mean, fuck - you’re almost twenty-three years old, how long ya been livin’ ‘ere?”  

Barky just turned away from him, his arms still folded stiffly across his chest and Wace knew that going this route wasn’t going to get through to him.  

“It ain’t rocket science,” he started quietly, trying a different tactic. The kid was s’damn sensitive sometimes, it just didn’t do any good to yell at him. “Ya just...ya gotta do what ‘e says, Bark. It’s that simple - nothin’ more, you’ll be damned if it’s anythin’ less, but if ya do what ‘e tells ya, things’ll be fine.”   Wace waited, hoping that some bit of his seldom-used brotherly wisdom took hold, but it backfired on him and ended up doing more harm than good.

“Yeah, for you maybe - only ‘cause you’re ‘is bloody fav’rite,” Barky snapped over his shoulder bitterly, refusing to look him in the eye any longer, partly from anger, and partly because he felt half-guilty for treating his brother like he was when it really wasn’t him he was mad at.   

For all Barky’s previous efforts, that was the comment that finally set Wace off. He didn’t know why, but the resentment, the anger that statement stirred up had him riled to the point where he threw all his guarded methods out the window and let him have it.   

“All right, now you can shut your fuckin’ mouth,” he shot back, barely fighting off the urge to take him by the front of his shirt and try to wring some sense into him. “Ya see? Dad doesn’t like me anymore than ‘e likes you - ‘e’s made damn sure ta let me know that over the years - ‘e just don’ yell at me, ‘cause I don’ give ‘im a fuckin’ reason to. That’s your problem - you always give ‘im a _reason_ ta tear into your ass.”  

“Oh, so it’s my fault now that ‘e can’t say a word ta me unless ‘e’s tellin’ me how much of a useless piece o’ shit I am?”  

“I didn’t fuckin’ _say_ that, now did I? No. I said that you run your fuckin’ mouth - _just_ like you’re doin’ now - an’ ya get ‘im all riled up. Ya don’ do what ‘e tells ya - as soon as ‘e tells ya - an’ ‘e gets fuckin’ pissed off.”

“I guess I’m just shit outta luck, then, because I can’t seem ta get it through my thick skull that there’s all these rules ta how I gotta live my life.”  

“Unbelievable,” Wace muttered as he brought his hands up to his face, smacking his palms on his forehead, before letting them slide slowly down his cheeks. “Live your life? Jesus, you say it like there’s some kinda choice you got in the matter. Truth is, dipshit, you _ain’t_ got a bloody choice. You gotta play the cards you were dealt according to the rules of the game an’ when ya don’t, _that’s_ when shit falls apart,” he finished, accentuating the words with a jab of his finger into Barky’s chest.  

With an annoyed roll of his eyes, Barky swiped at the hand in front of him, stepping off to the side and plopping back down onto his bed. “Yeah, well, I guess you’re just better at playin’ the cards than I am - no surprise there, really.”  

“All right, I’ve fuckin’ had enough,” Wace said, shaking his head and waving his hands in front of himself. “Ya can sit here and wallow around in all your mopey ‘woe is me’ shit all ya want - I got better stuff ta do.”  

With a slam of the door, he was gone, and Barky was lying on his back, his head facing the wall, imagining his older brother as he left the house, freeing himself from all the hell that went on there and wishing to God that he’d said he wanted to go with him.  


	19. These Bones Shake With a Rattle And Quake

“You spendin’ the night over ‘ere t’night?” Jen asked hopefully, eyeing her boyfriend’s prone form on the couch. He had his feet kicked up on the cushions as he perused the latest stats of his favourite rugby team in the paper.   

“Yeah, prob’ly,” he mumbled, not looking up from the page. “Gotta work at the shipyard t’morra.”  

She nodded; her house was about fifteen minutes closer to the yard than Wace’s, something she found ironic on the rare occasions she bothered to think about it. She bit her lip as she briefly considered the best way to initiate a little ‘playtime’ with him. He’d been really tired lately and his schedule had been chaotic, so she hadn’t seen him all that often and when she had he’d been too tired for any sort of extracurricular activities. But tonight he was awake enough to read the paper, at least, so she had some hope that he might be interested in something a little more... _frisky_.  

She didn’t want it to happen on the couch, though -- she preferred the idea of the bed, where they’d have more room. She just didn’t know how to move him from one to the other without ruining any chances of creating a conducive mood for the activities she had in mind.  

He solved the problem for her, though, by folding the paper as he stifled a yawn and stood up from the couch. “Headed to bed?” she asked, trying to make it not sound like a leading question.

He nodded, and she echoed the movement. “I think I’m goin’ that way m’self,” she hinted, but if he understood that she was hinting, he didn’t acknowledge it, and she frowned a little as she watched him retreat from the living room.

He took a detour to the toilet and she dashed into her bedroom, opening the drawer where she kept her lingerie. There was a very tasteful beige silk nightie that she’d bought a week ago and had been saving for a special occasion, and she thought tonight might be just the night to try it out. She changed quickly, tossing her discarded clothes into the hamper inside her closet, and fluffed her hair with her fingers, trying for a slightly tousled look.

He shuffled into the bedroom, one hand scratching lazily across his stomach, and she looked at him over her shoulder from where she was turning down the covers on the bed. He never quite looked at her, and she waited until he’d climbed into bed before sliding in herself, scooting over until she was tucked against his side.  

Softly, she began kissing him, starting at his ear and working over his jaw until she got to his mouth. As she kissed him on the corner of his lips, he turned his head slightly away from her and said quietly, “Not t’night, Jen.”  

She pulled back, a little stung, and worked her mouth for a moment before anything came out. “Oh, okay,” she said finally, sliding away from him.   

She slipped out of the bed and he asked sleepily, “Where ya goin’?”  

“I, um, just remembered -- I need ta -- check on somethin’, in the kitchen. Think I mighta left the oven on.”

“’Kay,” he yawned, already falling into sleep, and she turned out the bedside lamp before she left the room.  

Hours later, he awoke to a still-empty bed. The first thing he noticed was the soft amber glow of the living room light, then the glaring red numbers on the clock that read 2:57 AM.  

Irritation rose up sharply within him at the half-formed thought that she was trying to make him feel guilty, and he pushed himself out of bed with a heavy, frustrated sigh. Once he stumbled into the living room and caught sight of her, however, he couldn’t help but feel ashamed with a vague twinge of exasperation.

She was stretched out on the couch with her cozy down throw tucked around her, her book lying half-open on the floor where it had fallen from her unconscious fingers. He stood in the doorway for a moment, debating whether he should leave her be or wake her up in favor of moving her to the bed, until he finally moved forward with a slight frown.  

He squatted down beside the couch and pushed her hair out of her face, calling her name softly. “Jen? Wake up.”

She mumbled incoherently in protest and his frown deepened.

“C’mon, Jenny,” he said quietly, removing the down throw from her body and wrapping one of his arms around her torso, beginning to pull her off the couch.  

“Mm-mm,” she whimpered, shaking her head a little, and he paused, taking a deep breath to tamp down on his annoyance.

He was tempted to just leave her alone, let her sleep the rest of the night on the couch, but he couldn’t get past the conscience-stricken thought that it was _her_ bed and it felt wrong to sleep in it without her.  

Finally giving up on getting her awake, he shifted positions and slid one hand beneath her knees and the other beneath her shoulders and lifted her with a quiet grunt of effort.   As he carried her to her room, his back and shoulders protesting in their exhaustion, she woke up enough to realize where she was.   

“Wace?” she mumbled, and he spared what little energy he had to whisper, “Ssshh, it’s okay.”  

“I’m sorry, baby,” she continued, turning her face into his shoulder, and he set her down on the bed, all the air rushing out from his lungs in an expulsion of relief.   

“What for?” he asked, slightly breathless as he sat on the edge of the bed beside her, but she never answered, and he finally got up and went to his side of the bed, turning out the lamp as he went.

He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.  


	20. And Now You Have Less Than Before

“No, Dad - look, I dunno, okay? I’ve been lookin’ on ev’ry break – just...hang on a second, all right?”

Ignoring the shouts from his father down the hall as best he could, Wace strode quickly into the living room to catch the phone before whoever was ringing hung up.  

“Yeah,” he said gruffly, letting his mood slip over onto an innocent victim - or, maybe not-so-innocent if it happened to be Barky on the other line.

“Hey,” came a soft, feminine voice, completely unfazed from the rough greeting. “How ya doin’ stranger?”  

Rubbing his hand over his eyes, he did his best to calm down, but that wasn’t easy to do with his father still ranting in the background. “Hey.”  

“What’s wrong?” Jen asked, taking note that his tone of voice still hadn’t changed, even though he knew now that it was her.   

Shaking his head in frustration to no one but himself, Wace gripped the phone tighter and pulled it as far across the living room as he could. “Nothin’,” he lied, breathing the words heavily into the receiver as he spoke them.

“That’s a load o’ bull. What’s goin’ on?”

She kept her tone neutral as she spoke, though she was a little perturbed by how he was acting over the phone. Then again, it wasn’t anything really new for him as of late...

Physically flinching back when she heard the muffled, but loud, yell coming from the background, Jen pressed the headset closer to her ear, straining to hear what was happening. “Wace? Wace, what’s all that noise?” she asked, speaking loudly to talk over the heavy scratching noise that was coming through. It sounded like someone was covering up the mouthpiece.  

“Sorry,” he said finally, his voice no less strained than it had been before. “Got a lot goin’ on right now.”

“Anything I can help with? I mean, I was gonna ask and see if you wanted ta come over for dinner - I cooked that baked chicken you like, but...”  

“Prob’ly shouldn’t,” he answered and Jen could hear the aggravation in his voice, but tried to ignore it, knowing now that it wasn’t anything that she’d done. “Dad’s uh...’e’s on the piss t’night and I don’ really like ta leave ‘im alone when ‘e gets like this.”

“Couldn’t...could Barky maybe -”

He cut her off abruptly with a harsh expulsion of breath and Jen had to let herself wonder for a moment what that was all about.  

“Yeah - _right_ ,” he eventually said, sarcasm evident on each syllable.  

“Wace, what’s goin’ on?” Jen asked, feeling as if she voiced that question at least ten times already without getting an answer.   

“Barky - ‘e’s out fuckin’ around somewhere. Haven’t seen or heard from ‘im in about four days, the little bastard.”  

“Four _days_?” Jen was slightly alarmed. No matter what the situation or how things were going for him, Barky wasn’t usually the type to leave people behind to worry about him. “Don’t - I mean, have ya tried over at – ”

She was stopped suddenly, in mid-sentence, once more as she heard the muffling of the phone and several indiscernible shouts.   “Wace!” she yelled into the phone, anxious about what was going on at the other end of the line. All she could hear was the crackling sound of his hand covering the phone and slips of Wace’s father bellowing away.  

After the sounds stopped for a moment, she heard him take his hand away and sigh heavily into the receiver. “Ya still there?” he said, not waiting for her to answer. “I’m sorry, Jen - what were ya sayin’?”

“I-I was just askin’ if you’d called Lanny,” she said quietly, unsettled by how the whole interaction with him was going. It was hard to ignore what was going on in the background and she found herself more than a little worried for him - Barky as well. She still couldn’t get over him just not telling anyone where he was, it just wasn’t like him at all.

“Fuck if I’d do that,” he scoffed.

“Why not? ‘e might be over there.”  

Wace let out a humorless laugh and Jen could tell that he’d just switched ears with the phone. “Well, if ‘e’s over there, I don’ wanna get in the way of ‘im ruttin’ with ‘is girlfriend - I mean, it’s obvious ‘e’s got ‘is priorities here. B’sides - she’ll talk my bloody ear off, always fuckin’ does.”   

She cringed visibly at how he’d so callously referred to Barky and Lanny’s relationship and couldn’t help that nagging thought in the back of her mind from surfacing. _‘Does he think that way about us?’_

She quickly brushed it to the side, though, and searched for some way to bring the situation down from the steady roar it had escalated to.   “Well, umm...okay, if ya get things worked out, if ya still wanna come over, then -”  

“Okay,” he cut her off abruptly, the noise clambering in the background starting to sound like it was getting closer. “I’ll call ya when I -- fuck. Jen, I gotta go!”  

With that, the line went dead and it was several seconds before Jen brought the phone down from her ear and really registered what had happened. The beginnings of a loud clatter stopped Wace in the middle of his sentence and then he’d just... hung up the phone.

She frowned at the handset resting loosely in her palm and then reached over to the phone cradle next to her and pushed down the buttons to get a dial tone. Reaching for the notepad she kept in her end table drawer, she flipped through the pages until she reached Lanny’s number.

If she wasn’t able to help Wace directly with what was going on, then maybe she could try on her own to find out some answers.  

After only two rings, Lanny’s familiar voice answered with a frantic-sounding, “Hello? Barky?”  

 _‘Oh shit,’_ Jen thought. _‘If she doesn’t know where he is either...’_

“Lanny, it’s Jen,” she said quietly.

“Jen, hey,” Lanny said, sounding tired. “Sorry ‘bout that...”  

“No - hey, no worries. I was actually callin’ ta see if you knew where he was, but...”  

“Oh, I _know_ where he is,” she answered, and Jen could hear the worry and resentment in her tone. “I was just waitin’ for ‘im ta call an’ tell me he got there okay.”  

“You wanna tell me where ‘there’ is?” Jen asked, trying to keep her voice a little light. “Wace’s worried about him.”

 _‘Okay, Wace actually sounds pissed, but it’s because he’s worried,’_ Jen thought. _‘Mostly,’_ she tagged on to the end.  

“Y’mean ‘e didn’t even tell Wace? Jesus, fuck, Barky,” she sighed. “Queensland. I _think_.”  

Jen sat in stunned silence for a minute. “Wh... Queensland? But that’s... that’s at least a three-day drive...”

“Yeah,” Lanny sighed. “He said he was headin’ north, to the cane fields. He left me a letter.”  

“A _letter_? You mean –”

“Didn’t bother ta tell me in person, no,” Lanny confirmed. “Prob’ly knew I’d try ta talk ‘im out of it.”  

“Oh, Lanny, I’m sorry... that... my God, how are you doin’ with all that?”  

Jen could almost hear her shrug. “Well...‘e’s been bitchin’ about gettin’ outta here for a while...”

“But, to just leave... to leave _you_...”

“Wasn’t that much of a surprise,” Lanny said in a small voice. “We ‘aven’t... well, ‘e ‘asn’t been _interested_ in a while...”  

“Yeah, I know that feelin’,” Jen muttered before she could censor the thought.

“What?” Lanny asked, genuine shock coloring the word. “Not you an’ Wace...”  

“No - well, kind of - but I know ‘e’s dealin’ with a lotta stuff. ‘E’s just stressed... tired.”  

“Uh-huh,” Lanny said, not totally convinced but trying to sound supportive. “Well, anyway, I think Bark took the train out a few days ago. In ‘is letter, ‘e said ‘e’d try ta call, let me know ‘e got there okay... I figured ‘e must’ve gotten there prob’ly late yesterday, so I was hopin’...”

“Yeah,” Jen answered as the other girl’s voice trailed off. “Well, listen, if you need anythin’...”

“Yeah, you too,” Lanny sighed.   

“Okay, well, I’ll let you go in case he tries to call. Good luck.”  

“Thanks.” 

The click was almost immediate, and Jen looked at the phone, worry swelling up inside of her for Barky, for Lanny... and for Wace. God only knew how he was going to take this news.  

With a deep breath, she dialed the number, her fingers shaking as she pressed the buttons and her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for him to answer.  

“What?” came an angry shout over the other end of the line.  

“Um - Wace? It’s... it’s me.” She wasn’t sure if her hesitance was more to do with the temper he was already displaying or her fear of how much that was going to increase once he heard what she had to say.

He sighed openly into the receiver, cringing at the loudness of it in his own ears as he leaned tiredly against the wall. “Whaddya need, Jen?”  

 _‘Fuck,’_ she thought.

This wasn’t gonna be fun at all.

“Nothin’, really, I was just...”

She paused. She’d had half a thought of asking him to meet her, to tell him in person, but she had a feeling she wouldn’t get that halfway out of her mouth before he’d shoot it down. The best way would definitely be the most direct.

“I called Lanny. Barky’s in Queensland.”

“How the _fuck_ did ‘e get ta Queensland?” he asked after only a moment, disbelief coloring his voice. “What the hell is ‘e doin’ all the way up there? Is ‘e all right?”

“She just said... he left ‘er a letter, said ‘e’d gone to the cane fields. I dounno know - she hasn’t heard from him since then.”

He would’ve asked her to repeat what she’d just said if his mouth and brain were cooperating, but since they weren’t, he settled for squeezing the unrelenting plastic of the receiver as hard as he could.

“ _Cane fields_?” he managed to ground out. “‘E gave ‘er a fuckin’ letter sayin’ ‘e was runnin’ off t’the _cane_ fields?”

She knew there wasn’t anything more she could tell him, but she felt obligated to attempt to give him some kind of answer, so she told him as much of what she knew as she felt safe with. “She thinks he took the train out a few days ago; she’s expecting him to ring her to tell ‘er he got there okay. She’s really worried, ‘cause she figures he should’ve been there by now.”   

Realizing what she’d just said, she hurried to tag on, “I’m sure ‘e’s okay, though - I mean, I’m sure he just hasn’t been able to find a phone, or something...”  

Wace let out a short laugh as the words she was telling him were finally beginning to sink in beneath the shock of it all. Barky was gone. For how long, he didn’t know, but he was gone at least for the time being. He’d left without so much as a word and expected him to get the information through some girlfriend that he’d only spoken to a handful of times in his life.

“If the piece o’ shit can find ‘is bloody way ta Queensland, ‘e sure as hell can find a fuckin’ _phone_ when ‘e gets there,” he shot back with venom in his voice. “An’ you can tell Lanny she can fuckin’ worry all she wants - she can do enough for the both of us because that son of a bitch’s got a whole lot o’ trouble comin’ ‘is way. It’s prob’ly good ‘e’s that far north, ‘cause I woulda fuckin’ killed ‘im m’self by now if ‘e was any closer.”

Jen didn’t really know what to say to that - she sure as hell wasn’t going to rebuke him for his feelings, because she understood it all too well. Even knowing as little as she did of the situation with their father, she knew that Barky’s leaving was going to bring some kind of hell down on Wace, and she couldn’t help feeling a little resentment toward the younger brother for that. On the other hand, actually saying anything to encourage his outburst probably wouldn’t go over too well, either. In the end, she settled for staying away from the subject entirely.  

“Wace, is there - do you need - is there _any_ thing I can do?”

He hadn’t been able to stop his eyes from rolling at that and he let out a short bark of angry laughter into the phone. “What the hell’re ya gonna do, Jen? Head out ta Queensland and drag ‘is ass all the way back ‘ere, kickin’ an’ screamin’?”

He hadn’t meant for his words to be delivered so harshly, but...well, yes, he had. He just hadn’t meant for them to be said to her, though he knew there was nothing he could do about it now and he was too far into his rage to even really care.

“Ya know, wh-whatever. I don’ give a flyin’ fuck what ‘e’s out there doin’, just so long as ‘e’s outta my hair. I’m sick an’ tired of havin’ ta,” he stopped himself, just barely able to keep the word ‘worry’ out of his rant, “of havin’ ta clean up after ‘is fuckin’ messes.”

She shook her head, drawing in a sharp breath and tamping down on her frustration. She wanted to shout back at him that she wasn’t asking what she could do about Barky, that she’d wanted to know if Wace needed anything from her. But then, in this state, he’d never admit it if he did, so it was a lost cause. She decided not to respond in kind to him, knowing it would only push his bad temper higher -- but then again, maybe he needed that release; she didn’t know. In the end, she settled for letting just a little irritation bleed through in her tone, sarcasm heavy on her words as she said, “I’m gonna take that as a ‘no’.”

“Take it however ya bloody well please - ev’rybody else in this fuckin’ town does.”

He pushed himself up from the wall then, pacing the floor in quick strides, needing more than anything to move, to release some of the energy that was pent up inside him, screaming to be let out.

“And ya know another thing?” he started abruptly, his steps coming to a halt in turn. “I bet ‘e didn’t even think about what ev’ryone else’s had ta do with ‘im bein’ gone. Little turd just prob’ly packed up an’ left just because it suited ‘im.

“Dunno why I’m even halfway surprised - ‘e’s always been like that, doin’ whatever ‘e pleased, whenever ‘e pleased. Just s’long as ‘e was taken care of then ev’rything’d be all right.”  

She listened patiently, having zero to say in answer to his tirade, but suspecting that he didn’t count on her to reply in the first place. Chewing her lip nervously, she tucked her legs under herself on the couch, saying nothing to stop the stream of muttered, nervous curses that flew from his mouth as he began to taper off in his one-sided outburst.   

“I gotta go, Jenny,” he sighed eventually, the past few minutes taking almost as much out of him as the rest of the night before them had.   

She frowned at that; worried by the way all his temper had just drained into apathy. “D’ya...I mean, do ya want me ta come over? Or get a good night’s rest, maybe you come over ‘ere an’ –”  

“Nah. I think I’ll just...I guess I’ll ‘ave a drink or somethin’, head ta bed.”

She nodded mutely, slightly stung that he’d rather find solace in a bottle than in her. Then again, she reasoned as she tried to brush away the dull ache of rejection she felt, a shot of whiskey doesn’t have eyes that stare back at him. And judging by his sudden turn of mood on the phone, she had a feeling that he didn’t want anybody to see him at the moment.  

“Okay,” she said reluctantly, pulling her legs off the couch and leaning over, resting her elbows on her knees. “Well...I guess I’ll see you later, then, all right?”

He grunted and she could hear the rustle of his clothes over the phone as he moved around whatever room he was in.

“Night - love you,” she offered up quietly, her voice dropping to a whisper like the night that had settled in around her.  

“Yeah... you, too,” came the half-hearted reply. He pulled the handset away from his ear and pressed the button to end the call as he slunk onto the ratty living room couch.

With tired eyes, he looked down the dark hallway that led to all of their bedrooms, his gaze falling onto the door that was slightly ajar. He couldn’t see his father from where he was sitting, but he knew he was in there, sleeping, passed out, finally comatose from his earlier bender, and he couldn’t stop the worry from creeping down into his gut at the realization that he was actually alone with him.  


	21. Light Your Candle In The Darkness

“D’ja ever find the lil’ runt, mate?”  

The question was delivered innocently enough just before Trunny shoveled another load of fried potatoes into his mouth. Wace had just lumbered through the front door of the local diner where they tended to eat breakfast whenever they had a free morning or got up early enough before work.  

“Yeah, I found ‘im,” came the near-growl, and that was all the smaller man got in reply as his friend plopped down tiredly on the bench booth across from him.  

Watching him carefully for a moment, taking in the bleary circles beneath his tired eyes and the ashen complexion of his face, Trunny noticed the swollen cut on his lip and the slight bruising at the corner of his mouth that was barely hidden by the scruff of a beard that he had growing.

“What ‘appened?” he asked casually, tipping his fork in Wace’s direction before he stuffed it into his mouth.  

This time, he got nothing for an answer, and he decided to drop it as his friend closed his eyes and shifted in the booth so he was resting his back against the wall with one booted foot stretched out in front of him on the bench, the other resting beside it on the floor.  

A few minutes later, Coppa walked through the door, and the waiter knew to bring a fresh pot of coffee and two mugs over to the table. After filling them both with the steaming, black liquid, he topped off Trunny’s half-empty cup and disappeared behind the front counter.  

“Mornin’,” the older man grunted as he slid in next to Trunny, taking note of his other friend’s current state and flashing a questioning look to his side.

Trunny just shrugged and shook his head, hoping to convey to Coppa to just leave it alone. Then again, he thought, Coppa might be able to get somewhere with him. He was always better at that than he was.

“Wha’s eatin’ you?” Coppa asked, and even though he hadn’t specifically addressed anyone, from the tone of his voice Wace knew it was directed toward him and he cracked an eyelid open, then the other before he sat up a little in his seat. “S’it Bark?” he tried again, already knowing the probable answer to his question.

Wace just shrugged and dragged his foot off the bench and let it land on the tile floor with a harsh thud, then took a deep drink of his coffee, mentally tracing the path of the liquid as it burned its way down his throat and into his chest and stomach. “‘E’s gone,” he croaked out with a sigh as he sat his mug back down on the table.  

“Gone?” Trunny asked, his mouth half-full of the last bite of his eggs. “Whaddya mean?”

“‘E’s fuckin’ _gone_ ,” Wace bit out harshly as his eyes shot over to his friend’s confused face. “Left - went off ta some fuckin’ cane fields an’ left a damn note with that...that _bitch_ ‘e’s been rootin’ around with. Couldn’t even bother ta tell me ‘imself.”  

He shook his head angrily and picked up his coffee cup once more, letting it dangle loosely from his finger that was hooked around the handle. “No - ‘e had ta go off and slink into the night where no one’d see ‘im leave, the fuckin’ pussy. Dipshit fuckin’ left just like that bitch of a...”  

Neither of the men across from said a word as they watched from across the table as Wace seethed, both inside and out, at what had happened.   

They’d seen the rise in frustration over the past few days, had recognized it as their friend’s way to mask the worry he was feeling over what might’ve happened to his brother, but this type of anger was different. It had shifted, though, when he’d found out where he was, what he’d actually done - this was a rage that had more to do with hurt and they could see it in his eyes when he spoke, no matter how much the vehemence in his tone tried to cloud it over. He was lashing out now, at Barky, at Lanny, at their mother - anyone to try and get rid of some of that wrath that had been festering up inside him for so long now. It really wasn’t about him leaving anymore.   

For a long while, the three of them sat in silence - one having nothing more to say and the other two deciding that what they did have to say was probably better left unspoken. The same waiter came by a few moments later, dropping off the usual plate of toast and eggs in front of Coppa and filled up everyone’s coffee mugs before vanishing once more into the kitchen.  

“D’ya think...maybe...” Trunny started after a few minutes, ignoring Coppa’s quick kick to his ankle and continuing on, his voice giving way to his hopefulness, “maybe ‘e’ll come back? Like, after ‘e’s been out for a while, had some time ta cool off an-”

“Man, I don’ give a flyin’ fuck if ‘e drops dead in the bloody gutter,” came the vicious reply.

Coppa sat down his fork on the edge of the plate and cast a serious look across the table. “Ya don’ mean that, Wace,” he corrected, slightly taken aback at the venom he’d heard in his friend’s voice.   

“The hell I don’t,” he shot back, his eyes flashing with the truth of the words he spoke.

“For ‘is whole life ‘e ain’t never worried about anybody but ‘imself and whether or not ‘e was taken care of. Well...I’m sick and fuckin’ tired of lookin’ out for ‘im an’ makin’ sure ‘e’s all right. If ‘e’s gonna throw all that back in my fuckin’ face like it didn’t mean more’n a sack of shit to ‘im, then ta hell with it - I’m _done_.”  

There was silence at the table yet again. Even the clattering dishes and drone of morning conversation over coffee fell into the background as all three men looked off at anything but one another.

Wace stared down into his mug, his eyes blacker than the coffee it contained, and, in a voice so low the others barely heard it, repeated firmly, “I’m done.”


	22. It Takes More Than Your Passion, More Than Your Pain

Frowning, Jen faced her reflection in the mirror and twisted this way and that, doing a visual check. She tugged on the hem of her tight-knit blouse, making the V-neck come down a little further. She cast an eye back at her closet, wondering if maybe the button-up would be a better choice, but decided, no, the color of this blouse was more flattering, and the material softer.  

She couldn’t help feeling a little ridiculous as she fiddled with the neckline, trying to make sure the effect of her lavender push-up bra was displayed to the fullest advantage. She didn’t wear this bra often -- it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing one wanted to have on when teaching first-graders -- but she’d chosen it with a purpose tonight.   

She’d purchased it two years ago on sale, not realizing until she got it home and tried it on that “full support” was code for “push-up.” She smiled a little as she smoothed her skirt over her thighs, remembering that day with vivid clarity.

She’d put the bra on, baffled when it seemed too small, her breasts spilling over the cups, and checked the tag. No, it was the right size; it just... fit weird. That was when she had noticed the extra padding on the bottom of the cups and realized what was going on. A couple of strap adjustments, and she’d been looking at her new and improved bustline.

She still remembered how she’d fiddled with the garment, observing its effect with a critical eye, and how she’d had her hands cupped beneath her breasts, testing the shape and support of the bra when Wace had walked into the room and stopped dead in his tracks.  

She hadn’t even heard him come in over the soft jazz she had playing on the radio and the concentration she’d been devoting to her new lingerie, and a blush stained her cheeks at his unexpected appearance. His mouth had dropped open and he hadn’t shut it for a long time until she finally giggled at his expression.  

His eyes had shot up to hers then, leaving her chest where they’d been focused for the last few seconds, and the fire in them had squelched any amusement she’d felt. She remembered how he’d practically dragged her the few feet to the bed -- though she hadn’t put up a fight -- and nearly tossed her onto it. When she’d reached for the back hooks on the bra to take it off, he’d stopped her hands gently, looking up at her face to test her reaction to his words.  

“Leave it on?”

She’d grinned, half-shy, half-seductive, and taken her hands away from the clasp to rest on his waist, sliding his shirt up and off. “All right,” she’d murmured. “I’ll leave it on.”  

Their lovemaking had been wilder that day than she could remember it being before or since, and she recalled the way he’d pressed his face into the pale skin of her breasts, tasting everywhere he could, and mumbled with conviction, “You’re never wearin’ this thing out in public... I’d hafta start carryin’ a stick with me.”

He’d tugged on a strap of the bra as he said it, letting her know what he was referring to -- because at that moment, with him inside her and his mouth on her, she had completely forgotten she was even wearing the damn thing.  

She admitted freely that she’d chosen that particular bra tonight with hopes of rekindling at least some of that passion. It had been a long damn time since he’d shown any kind of interest in intimacy with her, and while she knew that he’d been busy and stressed and tired, she missed that closeness... and part of her couldn’t forget Lanny’s voice saying, _“Wasn’t that much of a surprise... ‘e ‘asn’t been interested lately.”_

Besides, she thought that maybe he needed to release some tension, get his mind off things for a while.

There was a knock on the door and she jumped, her hands clenching involuntarily in the fabric of her skirt before she smoothed it down again. Checking her hair and makeup one last time in the mirror, she stepped into her high heeled shoes and went to the door, opening it.  

“Hey,” he said quietly, and she frowned at his lack of enthusiasm.

“Hey there,” she responded warmly, swinging the door wider so he could step in, but staying close enough that he just brushed up against her when he did. “Since when do you knock?”  

“Since I forgot my key in my other trousers,” he responded flatly, and she blinked. Not only was his mood not improving, he had yet to notice her dressed-to-kill outfit. That wasn’t normal.

“Oh,” she murmured, choosing not to remind him about the extra key under the flowerpot by the door. “Well, dinner’s almost ready - I just need to put it on the table.”  

He nodded, and she deliberately walked in front of him on her way to the kitchen, waiting for him to _notice_. When she came back into the living room to the small table in the corner, balancing both plates in her hands, she paused in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, tilting her head as she regarded him curiously.  

He was still standing in the exact same spot she’d left him, studying the carpet as if he could see through the floor into some mystical subterranean landscape, his eyes glassy and unfocused. With a soft sigh, she turned and placed the plates on the table, then returned to the kitchen to retrieve their glasses and silverware.  

When she re-entered the room, he was halfway to the table, having snapped out of his daze a little. She slid his knife and fork easily across the table to him, handing him his glass of beer, then sat in her own chair across from him, smoothing her skirt underneath her as she did.  

She crossed her legs away from the small table, one of her shoes dangling idly from her toes. She tried to muffle a sigh as she speared her first bite of tender beefsteak, berating herself for her childishness. He was _tired_ \-- exhausted, really, it seemed -- and she was feeling insecure because he wasn’t interested in sex.

Her expulsion of breath caught his ear and he looked up from his dinner, taking a sip of beer to wash down the bite in his mouth.

“You okay?” he asked, and she forced a sunny smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, her voice sounding only a little strained. He arched an eyebrow, but went back to eating as if it took his full concentration to get the food from the plate onto the fork and into his mouth.  

After a few awkwardly silent moments, she asked brightly, “How are you?”

He gave her an odd look and answered slowly, “I’m good.”  

“That’s good,” she said lamely, her gaze faltering away from him and returning to her plate. _That’s enough, Jennifer Taylor,_ she lectured herself firmly. _The poor man is worn out. Let him eat in peace._

She bounced her foot a little in irritation at herself and the situation, her shoe finally falling off and clunking to the floor. She tried to work up the energy to care, but Wace’s bad mood was contagious and she was sinking into apathy.  

He looked up at the sound of her shoe falling and gave her a once-over, seeming to really _see_ her for the first time. Confusion wrinkled his brow and he put his fork down for a moment, taking a long drink of beer before he asked, “Why’re you so dressed up? You goin’ out or somethin’?”

She froze for a moment, panic flitting through her mind. If he didn’t know she’d dressed up for him, she sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him. She was afraid it would come out either in a guilt-inducing manner or waspishly, and she didn’t want the reaction that would elicit from him.   

“Oh, I um, had a late meeting with the board of directors at school, didn’t have time ta change.”  

He nodded, accepting her stammering lie, and she frowned, feeling a little sick. He should know she was lying; she’d told him last week that the board of directors wasn’t having another meeting for two months. Then again, she reckoned, it wasn’t like remembering her work schedule was topping his list of priorities right now, what with everything else that had been heaped on his plate.  

She speared a piece of steamed asparagus with a vengeance, bringing it up to her mouth and biting it viciously.

Seeming not to notice his girlfriend’s suddenly sour mood, Wace cut another piece of steak and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing slowly. He looked her over again, gesturing with his fork, and nodded. 

“Y’look nice,” he said sincerely, and she immediately melted, all her frustration dissipating in affection and sympathy.  

“Thanks,” she said softly, a smile turning up her lips.  

“Dinner’s good, too.”  

“Glad you like it.”

She ducked her head, shame flushing her cheeks with color. He was trying _so_ hard, she knew, when he was terribly exhausted. Not only was he working two jobs, but his father wasn’t doing well and there was the strain of finances. He’d let it slip on the phone a little while back that Barky’s leaving had put them in a little bit of a bind, what with them losing a source of income they’d needed badly in the first place. His dad’s health was deteriorating and he often missed work, so Wace was practically carrying the entire responsibility on his own shoulders, and here she was, making demands on his time and energy.  

After they’d finished eating and Wace had pushed his plate away, settling back in his chair with a tired but satisfied groan, she picked up the dishes and stood up to take them into the kitchen, gesturing with her head to the couch.  

“Why don’t you go lie down, an’ I’ll come give you a back rub in a second,” she suggested, and he shot her an uncertain look. “Go on, you’ll like it,” she promised, a wry grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I won’t hurt ya.”  

“Hmph,” he grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, making his way slowly toward the couch.

She paused, waiting to see if he’d say anything else, but he didn’t, only collapsed bonelessly onto the couch, stretching out on his stomach, so she took the plates into the kitchen and slid them quietly into the sink. She’d come back for them later; they could wait.

Quietly, on stockinged feet -- both her shoes had been lost under the table -- she padded over to where he was and hitched her skirt up a little, straddling his hips, her knees pressing into the cushions on either side of his waist.  

He grunted as she rested lightly on his lower back, leaning forward to smooth the palms of her hands across his shoulders. She could feel knots of tension in his muscles even through the material of his shirt, and she sat up, sliding her hands under the fabric at his waist and pushing it up, pressing against his warm skin. He hummed a little as her fingers began working into his back, and she smiled at the sound. Maybe she could help him out a little after all, even if it wasn’t in the way she thought.

She peeked at what she could see of his face, and she was surprised to see his eyes shut tightly, his jaw clenched and his lips pressed together in a thin line.   

“Wace?” she called softly, lifting from him a little, afraid that she’d put too much weight on him and was hurting him. “Baby?”  

He took two sharp breaths through his nose, and she noticed that his entire body had tensed.

“Baby?” she called again, this time with worry in her tone, urgency sharpening her voice a little. “Baby, are you okay?”

She dismounted him, kneeling on the floor beside the couch, and took one of his hands in hers. “Wace, answer me,” she commanded quietly, her face close to his. He opened his eyes, and it took him a moment to focus on her, but when he did, he seemed to relax a little.

He pushed out a tired sigh and flipped over onto his back, bringing one arm up to lay across his forehead, pushing his hair away from his face.

“Think I’m too full to be layin’ on my stomach,” he muttered, and she chuffed out a relieved laugh, dropping her head to the cushion, keeping his hand cradled in both of hers.

She didn’t know what had happened, but he’d frightened her for a minute.  

“Well, we’ll save the back rub for another time, then,” she said warmly, crawling up onto the couch and nudging him over gently.

He scooted as much as he could and she stretched out alongside him, more than half of her ending up sprawled over his body, one of her legs tossed across both of his.   He sighed in contentment, bringing his arms up to hold her to him, and she nuzzled into his chest. It wasn’t exactly the torrid passion she’d been aiming for, but she figured it wasn’t a bad alternative.

She pressed a kiss to his collarbone and he murmured something unintelligible.

“What was that?” she asked softly, but he didn’t answer, and she lifted her head slightly until she could see his face. He was asleep already, and she smiled fondly at him.

“Sweet dreams, baby,” she whispered as she kissed his slack mouth gently before tucking her head under his chin and snuggling in closer.


	23. Too Smart To Be In The Realm Of Certainty

_I feel like a fuckin’ teenager,_ Wace thought bitterly as he crept out of the house, keeping his keys gently cupped in his hand so they wouldn’t jingle. _‘Cept I never snuck out back then - either didn’t hafta, or was too scared._

It was a long walk to Jen’s, but he hadn’t seen her at all in over a week, and it was worth it. His dad was snoring loudly, passed out on his bedroom floor, and Wace could only hope the alcohol would keep him out long enough for him to spend a few hours with his girlfriend.  

He moved as silently as he could, cringing when the screen door creaked slightly on his way out, and breathed a sigh of relief as he stood on the sidewalk for a moment, listening, waiting to see if his dad was still asleep. Content that he wouldn’t be discovered anytime soon, he started walking towards Jen’s but his steps quickened until he was jogging.

 _Shit - it’s pathetic how much you want to see that girl,_ he thought at himself with some amusement, a slight note of bitterness creeping in when he reflected that his dad thought much the same.   

That was the reason he hadn’t seen her, why he’d stayed away as long as he could, why he was having to sneak over to see her tonight instead of just _going_. Ever since Barky had left, his dad had started being more and more possessive of Wace’s time, making snide remarks about how Jen ‘led him around by his balls’ and what the hell did he think he was doin’, goin’ out with a nice girl like her anyway, cause it wasn’t gonna take long for her to realize that she was too good for him and leave him with his jimmy swingin’ in the wind.  

He gritted his teeth and took a deep breath, his anger and irritation at the words -- and at the fact that he couldn’t just write them off -- making his legs pump faster until he was in a full-out run over the streets toward the ‘good side of town’ where Jen lived. _You know, Dad’s right,_ his brain tormented him. _She **is** too good for you, and sure she may think you’re suitable right now, but what happens when she finds someone who does it better for her? She ain’t gonna stick with you, that’s for sure._

Shaking his head, and almost stumbling from the motion, he fought to ignore the voice of his insecurity, to push it out of his mind and not think about it. He didn’t really have an argument for that, only that, well, if she left him -- and God, his heart twisted at that thought -- he’d deal with it when it happened.   

He was on Jen’s street now, and could see her house just a few meters away. He slowed his pace until he was walking, his chest heaving as he recovered from his run, and walked quietly up the front steps, going straight to the flowerpot by the door where he knew she kept the spare key. He didn’t want her to have to get up just to let him in - it was past midnight, and she did have to go to work tomorrow.

Opening the door quietly, he replaced the key in the planter and crept inside, closing and locking the door behind him. He took his shoes off just inside the door, both to help him walk more quietly and to keep from tracking dirt over her clean, light-colored carpet. Slipping into her bedroom, he stood in the doorway and watched her, studied her face and figure as the streetlight filtered through the window. He didn’t take his eyes off her as he quietly stripped off his clothing, doing his best not to let the buckle on his belt jingle as he unfastened it and let his jeans slide down his legs. Down to his boxers, he turned back the covers on the bed -- noticing that she slept on one side of the bed now, leaving the other one open for him even when he wasn’t there -- and slid beneath them, his eyes closing involuntarily at the softness of the mattress and sheets and the warmth that radiated from her body.  

She shifted and murmured in her sleep as his weight settled beside her and he placed a soothing hand on her waist. He grinned stupidly when he realized she was wearing one of his shirts to sleep in, then stifled the expression immediately, feeling foolish for his reaction.  

“Wace?” she mumbled, obviously not awake, one of her hands reaching for him awkwardly and bumping into his chest.  

“Ssh,” he whispered, scooting closer and draping his arm over her stomach, pressing against her back and biting back a sigh at the feel of her against him. “It’s me; just go back to sleep.”  

“Mmm,” she murmured, warmth in her sleepy voice as she turned in his arms to face him, her eyes blinking blearily at him in the low light. “Hi,” she smiled, self-consciously tilting her face away from his in case her breath wasn’t so fresh after having been sleeping.  

“Hey there,” he returned, brushing his lips across her forehead and nose.

“Missed you,” she yawned, her arms going around his waist and one of her legs sliding over his, locking him to her.

“I’ve missed you too,” he answered truthfully, burying his nose in her hair.

“How long you stayin’?”

“I’ll leave in the mornin’,” he said, feeling an odd tightness in his chest and stomach as he did. Was she asking him to leave? No - no, he told himself, she just wanted to know if he was going to stay the rest of the night with her, or if he was going to get up and leave again.

He almost laughed as she pouted, her expression sleepily exaggerated.

“Do ya hafta?” she murmured, and he nodded his head.  

“You hafta go to work, and so do I. It’s not the weekend yet.”  

“Bloody hell,” she muttered, and he chuckled in agreement.   

Pressing a kiss to her face just beside her eye, he whispered, “Go back ta sleep. It’s late.”  

“It’s early,” she argued, but her sudden yawn destroyed any credibility the statement might have had and she gave in.

She shifted until her entire body was pressed against the length of his, her face against the hollow of his throat, their arms around each other and legs tangled together. He moved one hand into her hair, threading the strands between his fingers, and sighed. He closed his eyes and sleep fell over him.  

The next morning, before the sun had risen except for a faint orange glow on the horizon, Wace began to untangle himself from the woman in his arms. One of his legs had a terrible ache in it from being in an awkward position, and his left arm - which had been under her head - was cold and numb, and he rubbed it vigorously, grimacing as the sensation of pins and needles began to prickle through his skin.  

As he swung his legs over the side of the bed, he felt her small hand against his back and paused.

“Where’re you goin’?” she slurred, cracking open one of her eyes.  

“Just gonna go home to grab a quick shower ‘fore I go to work,” he said quietly, unwilling to disturb the hushed atmosphere. “I’m workin’ at Nick’s this mornin’ and I don’ have my uniform over here.”  

“It’s too bloody early,” she complained, and he chuckled.  

“Yeah, you get to sleep a little later,” he told her, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek.

“No - I mean - you don’t hafta go yet, d’ya? Stay.”

She was waking up a little more, though slowly.  

“I can’t stay, Jenny,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “I hafta go.”

Part of him wanted to make sure his dad hadn’t awakened already to find him gone -- fear was twisting in his stomach at the very thought.

“Just for a little while,” she insisted, sitting up now, reaching out to him. “C’mon.”  

And there it was -- her sly, mischievous grin that she gave him whenever she particularly felt like making love. That grin had been responsible for a variety of misadventures, including that one especially memorable occasion in the broom closet of the school.  

Torn, he sat on the edge of the bed, knowing the responsible thing to do would be to get up, get dressed, and leave, but never having been able to resist her when she wanted something -- especially when that something was him.

“C’mon - I’ll drive you back by your house to make up for the time,” she bargained. “You walked, right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, already beginning to lean back toward her.

Triumph gleamed in her eyes and she leaned forward, brushing her nose against his stubbly cheek. “C’mon, Wace,” she breathed. “We haven’t made love in almost a month.”  

“Twenty-three days,” he corrected, and she laughed, her lips finding the lobe of his ear.

“So stop wastin’ time we don’t have,” she insisted, her hands sliding down his chest to rest on his hips, the tips of her fingers slipping just underneath the elastic of his waistband, her thumbs pressing dangerously close to an area that was already visibly reacting to her.  

“It’s gonna hafta be quick,” he apologized, but she merely grinned at him and moved to straddle his hips, pushing his boxers down as she did. She leaned down to kiss him as she lowered herself onto him and his hands slid under her -- his -- white cotton t-shirt, cupping her breasts as she moaned into his mouth.

“So good,” she murmured as she paused for a moment, adjusting to him before they began to move together. “God - so good.”  

“Jenny,” he whispered into her neck, his lips pressing against her collarbone.

“Yeah,” she agreed breathlessly, tilting her head back to give him better access, her back arching as she pressed herself more firmly into his hands.  

He could already feel her beginning to tremble and satisfaction rushed through him at the evidence of how easily he affected her. One of his hands left her breasts, to which she verbally objected, and slid down her body between her legs. She gasped at the first brush of his fingers against her, then groaned deeply as he began to press more insistently.

“Oh - shit, Wace,” she said on an inhale and he smiled, not able to answer in more than a grunt as she began to tighten around him.  

It didn’t take long for her to fly apart and he was right behind her, his breath coming in hard, deep gasps as her hands clutched in his hair, pressing him into her chest.  

As they began to come down a little, Jen leaned back from him so she could look at his face, a sunny smile spreading across her mouth. “I’ve _really_ missed you, Wace,” she said, humor brimming in her tone at the obvious statement.  

With a lopsided grin, he leaned up to kiss her softly, his hands skimming over her body as the adrenaline began to fade from both of them.  

“Helluva way to start the mornin’,” he chuckled, and she laughed in agreement as she began to untangle herself, going straight to her dresser and pulling out a pair of clean underwear and jeans.   

She gestured to the bathroom, saying, “I’ll be just a minute,” and ducked inside.  

They both dressed quickly and dashed out to her car. She held his hand all the way to his father’s house, but about a block up the street, Wace pulled away with a gentle squeeze and said, “Let me out here; I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

“You sure?” she asked, concern in her voice, though she was already stopping the car.

“Yeah,” Wace answered as he opened the door and swung his legs out. “Don’t wanna risk wakin’ up Dad if he isn’t up already.”  

“Okay,” she nodded, leaning over to kiss him quickly on the mouth before he slipped from the car, closed the door behind him, and took off jogging up the sidewalk.

She watched him until he disappeared into the house, feeling a trembling begin somewhere deep inside, a sneaking suspicion that things weren’t exactly on an uphill journey.


	24. Who Longs To Be Laughing In Places Of Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence.

“Dad. You’re home early.”

Wace pulled his jacket off of his shoulders and hung it on the nail by the door. “Wanna beer?” he asked his father as he walked past him on his way to the kitchen.

“Two,” the old man grunted, eyes glued to the afternoon drama playing on the tube. He drained the last bit from the bottle in his hand and let it drop to the carpeted floor where it clanked against the two that were already there.

Surveying what they had in the refrigerator, Wace surmised it would be noodles and mackerel for dinner. He could almost taste the pot roast Jen had offered him on the phone while he was at the garage, but he’d begged it off in favor of making sure the old man ate something.

And he’d been doing less and less of that lately – eating. Alcohol more often than not seemed to take the place of anything solid in his stomach.

He pulled a pot out from beneath the sink and filled with water and some salt before tossing in a few cupfuls of the macaroni. He left the burner on low and set a can of fish on the countertop. His lips were pressed tight when he grabbed three bottles from the fridge and returned to the living room. Twisting one of the caps off easily, he slid it across the cluttered coffee table.

“How was work t’day?” he chanced lightly.

“S’work,” the old man grunted, not looking at him. “Left early.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he explained, finally glancing in Wace’s direction before his eyes squinted in discomfort. He rubbed his hand over his abdomen before taking a pull from the longneck. “Stomach’s still botherin’ me.”

“Tha’s been a while now,” Wace said quietly, before adding, “There’s that clinic down on Ashby.”

“M’not a fuckin’ charity case,” his father bit out.

“No, but…well,” he fumbled, “I was just – ”

His father dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Whatever.”

They both turned back to the television, but Wace had no idea what was happening in the plot. After a few minutes of near-silence, he went back to the kitchen and checked on dinner. He dipped his finger into the sauce and decided, after a quick lick, that it needed more salt, probably some oil, too. He added the ingredients and stirred them in, leaning against the countertop to watch the pot boil.

In no hurry to return to the living room, Wace made himself busy by tidying up the kitchen. It was something he did every day, because no matter how hard he tried to keep things clean, his father would come behind him and leave a mess of bottles and boxes and half-eaten meals.

He took out the garbage, put up the dishes from the drying rack and wiped down the unused side of the stovetop with a bleach rag. When the noodles were finished, he poured equal helpings into bowls and spooned some of the mackerel sauce over it. It wasn’t the best he’d cooked, but it was all that was available. He’d have to go to the market on his break tomorrow.

They ate in silence, the television providing the only noise either of them needed. Wace watched from the corner of his eye, monitoring how much his father was eating – which was almost nothing. He thought about saying something, but knew he’d be wasting his breath. He could imagine how well received a suggestion would be.

After a few more bites and another empty beer, his father sat back, belching loudly and crossing his arms over his stomach, signaling that he was finished with the food. Wace reached for the plate and, having finished his own food minutes earlier, moved for the kitchen once again.

He put the leftovers from the stove into an old, plastic butter tub and put it in the refrigerator. He could eat them for lunch tomorrow. He stacked the dirty dishes on the countertop next to the sink and ran the tap as hot as it would go. Lemon-scented soap followed and soon there was a bubbly mass rising from the water.

After a few moments, Wace felt a presence in the doorway behind him. His heart skipped and he looked up from the dishes. “Dad?”

As he was pulling the bottle away from his mouth, his father belched again, his chest heaving with…Wace didn’t know. His stomach twisted.

“You think…y’think I’m pathetic, dontcha?”

Dropping the fork into the soapy water, Wace shook his head, doing his best to tamp down the panic that was building in his chest. He wiped his hands on the dishtowel and tried to keep his voice even. “N-no. No, Dad, I never think that.”

“You’re a fuckin’ _liar_. And re _tar_ ded if ya don’t,” he tacked on with a gurgling laugh. He sobered quickly and his face screwed into an angry scowl. “Get on your knees,” he ordered, eyes drunk and bleary as he staggered into the kitchen.

“Da – w-what? Why?”

“ _Don’t_ you fuckin’ question me. I _said_ get on the ground,” he repeated, the words measured carefully. “ _Now._ I’m tired of you lookin’ down at me.”

Wace held his hands out, pleading. “Dad, jus-just take a second and – ”

“I said **now** ,” the old man shouted, slinging his half-full bottle against the wall as he started to rip his belt from his pants.

Wace’s knees hit the dirty linoleum the same time as the glass shards came sliding down the stained and wet wallpaper. “Okay. Okay, I’m down – s’fine. Ev’rything’s fine.”

“Don’ you fuckin’ talk ta me like that. Like you’re somethin’ big, like you’re somethin’ better’n me.”

“I’m not – I never – ”

“ _Shut up_! Shut yer _mouth_ an’ quit talkin’. I’m sick of hearin’ your voice.” He doubled the belt in his hands, squeezing it so hard the leather creaked.

Wace could hear his own shaky intake of breath and tried his best to still it, to stay calm. Most of the time his father’s anger dissipated quickly – he’d get too exhausted to keep up a tirade.

“I know what you think,” he ground out, his voice low. “I can see it written on your face. You think that you’re the head of this fam’ly now. That you’re the one who makes the decisions.”

He started to shake his head ‘no,’ but Wace felt a heavy slap to the side of his head that left his ear ringing. He blinked hard several times, trying to clear his watery vision.

“I got news for you, Big Shot - _I’m_ still the head of this house. _I’m_ still the one that makes the decisions and _you_ ,” he shouted, emphasizing his words as he took a fierce grip on Wace’s throat, “you’re fuckin’ worthless, ya hear me? _Worthless_. That piece o’ shit brother of yours, at least ‘e ‘ad the balls enough ta leave, but you… _you_ , you’re fuckin’ nothin’ without me.”

Wace closed his eyes, trying to block out the sneer on his father’s face as he leaned in close. Belt still in hand, the man patted one of Wace’s cheeks mockingly, the grip on his neck so tight that Wace felt his trachea start to shift.

“Even that bitch that’s turned you into a fancy boy, even she knows that. Won’t be too long now she kicks your ass t’the curb.”

Unable to breathe, Wace opened his eyes slowly and his father grinned evilly, the alcohol oozing from his breath. His vision started to blur and his hands waved about wildly, knocking the rack of wet dishes from the countertop.

Suddenly, he pushed him back, releasing him from his chokehold and sending Wace skittering across the floor onto his ass. Breathless, he ducked when he saw his father raise his hand.

“Ya like it?” he asked, shouting as he brought his belt down hard on the back of Wace’s head. “Ya like it down there, ya sack o’ _shit_? You’re _nothin’!_ ”

Wace covered his stinging head as well as he could, taking the brunt of the attack against his forearms. He shifted to his side, hoping his father would wail on his shoulders where the harsh blows wouldn’t cause as much harm.

“You hear me? _Nothin’_.”

He punctuated the word with a vicious kick between Wace’s legs, then another to his lower back. The shout of pain caught in his throat as Wace involuntarily straightened, his back arching forward as he twisted onto his stomach.

Writhing on the floor, he barely registered his father’s words as he threw his belt at him and said, “Clean this shit up.”

He didn’t know how long he lay on the floor, staring at the roach carcass by the baseboard beneath the sink. It could’ve been hours.

Noise from the back of the house had ceased and he hoped it meant that his father had finally gone to sleep. He pushed himself up, grimacing at the pain between his legs as he sat on cold floor. He took a moment to steady his breathing, then slowly made his way to his knees, then on one foot, then on both. Using the countertop, he stood upright, squinting as the pain blossomed bright behind his eyes.

He was lightheaded, nearly panting as he flexed his arms, testing the joints to make sure they still worked. His back ached, but he ignored it, knowing from experience that nothing vital had been damaged.

His tongue was dry, but he licked at his cracked lips anyway, sucking at the blood that had dripped down the corner of his mouth. He stuck his hands into the cold water, stirring it around so that the soap foamed in the sink once more. He picked up the fork he’d been washing earlier and wiped it clean.

After that came the rest of the silverware, then the two bowls, then the noodle pot and saucepan. He picked up the rest of the dishes from the floor and rinsed them again. Then he drained the water from the sink, scooping the excess food out with his hand and flicking it into the trashcan. The roach carcass followed. He turned off the light in the kitchen and made his way down the dark hallway to his bedroom by memory.

He eased out of his clothes, wincing as he slipped his t-shirt over his head and nearly falling over when he stepped out of his jeans. The bed was inviting, the clean sheets cool against his hot skin. He mentally went over the list he’d made of groceries he needed to buy as he scooted to the far side of the mattress and pressed his back against the wall.

It was a moonless night and his room was an inky black. Lying on his side, he ignored the pain in his elbow and rubbed his cheek against the cold pillow. His father’s words were like a pinball, pinging against his skull as it ripped holes in his brain.

He blinked, wondering for a moment, if his eyes were truly open.


	25. Before You Go To Sleep, Say A Little Prayer

She jolted awake at the searing pain in her nose. Vision blurred and slightly disoriented, she felt around in the darkness, calming when she bumped the familiar figure next to her. Her frown returned instantly when she heard him moving, mumbling incoherently in his sleep. “Wace?”

Blinking away the tears, she flipped her bed lamp on and propped herself on her elbow. “Baby?” she whispered, touching his shoulder gently when he didn’t awaken.

He shuddered violently and blew a harsh breath from his nostrils.

Jen shifted herself to a seated position, nose still smarting from Wace’s inadvertent smack. She shook his shoulder hard, his name catching on her lips when he went rigid beneath her hand. His eyes fluttered, never fully opening, and she could barely make out the frantic pleading over her pounding pulse.

“Dad…ple-please – I’m sorry. Don’t…please.”

“Baby, wake _up_ ,” she ordered, voice strong despite the weakness she felt in her stomach.

He stirred, shifting away from her hand, and kicked his feet a little, dislodging the sheet that had been tucked around his waist. His skin was clammy when she touched his back and she felt her worry build as he remained locked in his nightmare.

Her voice wavered when she called out to him once more and he showed no reaction.

“N-no. Don’t… _don’t_.”

She could see his profile as his face twisted in pain and he jerked several times, prompting Jen to stand and come to his side of the bed. She turned on his lamp and wiped a fresh bout of tears from her eyes as her knees pressed into the thick carpet. Ignoring the pounding in her chest, she tried once more to rouse him.

He’d had dreams before, numerous times, but he’d always responded to her calls or had managed to wake himself. This was different somehow and it scared her. She caught a glimpse of his eyes as they briefly opened and was shaken by the dilated pupils and wild terror she saw there.

“ _Wace_ ,” she called again, falling back as he shot from the mattress, shouting, “ **Don’t!** ,” before he startled himself awake.

He gasped for breath as he searched the dim room, gripping the sheets reflexively as he settled into reality. His eyes locked on hers and she saw a mixture of fear and relief wash over his face as he fumbled out of the bedding.

“It’s okay,” she assured him, wiping her eyes clear yet again as she sat up.

His skin was a shocky sort of pale, accentuating the dark circles beneath his eyes as sweat beaded down the sides of his face. “Jesus – did I hurt you? Are you okay?”

He leaned over, just stopping himself from touching her, but she closed the space, taking his face between her palms. “I’m fine,” she promised, smoothing her hands over his hair, pressing gently against his ears. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t wake you up – I tried.”

He paused briefly, registering her words, and then a mild horror appeared on his face. “What did I say?” he asked as he pulled away from her, his voice heavy with trepidation.

When she shook her head and fumbled around an answer, he demanded urgently, “Jennifer, _what_ did I _say_?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” she replied quickly, shocked that he’d used her full name. She held her hands up imploring, trying to explain, willing away the new fear she saw in his expression. “No-nothing. You just, uh…you were talkin’ to your father an-and said ‘I’m sorry’ and…‘no’ an’ that was it. Baby, _what_ is wrong? Talk to me, please.”

Instead of answering, he stood abruptly and left the bedroom, slamming the bathroom door behind him. She pushed herself up and followed, heedless of the barrier between them. When she opened it, she saw him splashing water over his face, scrubbing hard at the flushed skin and creating a small puddle on the tile floor beneath him.

Jen didn’t care about the mess, only that she could see him visibly trembling as he shifted from one foot to the other. “Wace,” she whispered, reaching to touch his straining bicep.

He jumped back as if his flesh had been scalded by her fingertips, and gave her a wary look. Tamping down the hurt at his reaction, she covered the two feet of separation and wrapped her arms tightly around his ribcage.

The front of her nightgown was soaked, but she didn’t notice as her palms flattened against his back, pressing him to her. She rubbed her cheek against the damp hair on his chest, lingering tears mixing with the sweat and the water. His heart was still pounding and hers did the same.

The tension within him had been building for weeks – months if she looked deeper into what she’d been brushing over since his brother had left. She wasn’t surprised by the nightmares, probably should’ve anticipated his reaction afterwards, but she’d been holding onto the hope that he’d at least allow her to give him this, some form of comfort he’d never rejected before. She swallowed hard, letting out a deep breath and closing her eyes as he finally relaxed into her embrace.

She held him silently, knowing words would ruin everything, until after long moments he stepped back, face dry and unreadable. A light pressure against his stomach, and he sat on the closed toilet seat, watching intently as she wet a rag and turned off the faucet. He stared somewhere left of her elbow and she concentrated on wiping his chest, shoulders and throat with the cool cloth. She rewet it and rubbed it over his back, catching the sweat near his waistband before draped it across the nape of his neck.

Exhaustion had returned to his features and she pulled him to his feet and back to the bedroom, relieved that he didn’t protest. Nightgown and boxers drenched, she stripped them both of their wet clothing and climbed into bed on his side, scooting backwards, giving him room to follow.

He did, closing the space between them as he shifted downward and rested his cheek against her bare breast. His hand came up to settle on her hip and she could feel his eyelashes batting against her skin as he blinked.

She welcomed him into her hold and wrapped her body around his, hands gripping his shoulder and the back of his head. Her heart tightened at his shaky intake of breath and she pressed a kiss to his crown.

“Sleep,” she said quietly, vowing to stay awake until he did so. “I’ve got you.”


	26. One Step Closer To Nowhere

The room was finally quiet, save for the steady click of the IV drip and the raspy wheeze coming from Wace’s father as he slept in the hospital bed. The nurses hadn’t allowed him to eat anything more than chicken broth and ice chips since he’d been admitted, which was going on thirty-six hours now. They still had tests to run on him to find out what was wrong.

A doctor had come in earlier that afternoon, mentioning something about doing some work on his liver, but had used so much confusing medical jargon that the older Allan had run him out of the room, calling him what seemed like every name in the book. Needless to say, the medical staff only visited room 403 whenever it was absolutely necessary.   

Stretching his arms above his head with a yawn, Wace eyed the telephone warily, wondering, not for the first time, if he should call Jen. It was just after five in the morning - she wouldn’t be up, but it wasn’t too early to use time as an excuse for not ringing her. Then again, she’d be at the hospital as soon as she got word, even if it was only for the few minutes she could probably squeeze in before heading off to work.

As much as he wanted that, as much as he just needed to see her face right then, he still didn’t think it would be a good idea. In the almost four years they’d been together, she’d never met his father, and things had been going just fine that way. Besides, now wasn’t a good time to introduce the two of them - not when the old man was about as cantankerous and quick at the mouth as he’d ever been.   

Sighing quietly, he brought his hands back down to his lap with a dull ‘thwack’ and shook his head. He’d been up the entire night, unable to sleep at all in the tiny, faded, yellow, plastic chair they’d given him, though comfort really had little to do with it. His father had been awake for the majority of their stay as well, cursing, threatening, shouting to anyone that would listen - and especially to those that wouldn’t - that he was perfectly fine and could go home.

In fact, Wace was positive that if his father’s co-workers hadn’t called an ambulance to pick him up after he’d passed out, then he would’ve just gone on with his welding as much as he could have as soon as he regained consciousness.   As much as he tried to deny it, in the pit of his stomach he had a fear of how real his father’s threats against him might end up being, if he’d made a mistake in not letting the doctors discharge him. The time he’d already spent in the hospital certainly hadn’t done anything to calm him, it was just more fuel on the fire at best, but there was nothing he could do about it now and the old man’s ailing health had gone untreated long enough.   

With another glance at the clock, Wace thought guiltily that he should’ve been getting ready for work in an hour or so, but he’d called Nick the night before and let him know that he probably wouldn’t be coming in today. He wasn’t happy about it - Fridays were always busy with cars that needed to get their oil changed or a tune-up to get them ready for the weekend and he usually had everyone come in to the shop - but understood that Wace didn’t have a choice. Luckily, he was off from the shipping yard on Fridays and Saturdays because of his long shifts at the garage.   As he’d been making the call, the only thing Wace could think was, _‘If Barky were here…’_

He felt his hackles begin to rise once more at just the notion of how much easier things would’ve been had his brother chosen not to just skip town in the middle of the night coming on two years ago. Suppressing a yawn brought him back to the present, and how worn out he was, letting him know that he didn’t have the energy to get aggravated about it again.

A quick look at his father gave him the assurance that he could finally get up, maybe take a walk around the hospital floor and stretch some before he came to again and started up with his ranting.   

The lights in the hallway were much brighter than those in the room and he squinted as he stepped out into the quiet corridor. The elevators were to his right and he could see the red glow of the soda machine peeking around a corner, so he headed that way, thinking some caffeine might do him a bit of good. On his way toward the lounge, he passed the nurses’ station, giving the bored-looking woman on call a tired nod good morning.   

After a slight reprieve in the floor’s snack room, he headed back to his father, ignoring the stiffening in his muscles, his body’s way of protesting sitting in that chair once more, he was sure. As he trudged by the station again, he heard the nurse call out to him, nearly sending him jumping from his shoes.  

With a slightly aggravated look on his face, he turned back to her to see what she’d wanted, mentally telling himself that it better have been good or -  

“I’m sorry, Mr. Allan - didn’t mean ta scare you,” she apologized honestly, her voice sounding much younger than the wrinkles on her face would’ve suggested. “I was just wonderin’ if there was anythin’ I could do for ya? I know you’re prob’ly tired an’ – ”  

“Thanks, but... no, I don’ think there’s anything you could do for me right now,” he said quietly, cutting her off before she could go too much further into her explanation. He was stuck in the situation and there wasn’t anything either of them could come up with, he was sure, and he had to get back to his father’s room in case he woke up.   

“Are you sure?” she prodded, her brow furrowing in concern as she took in his slumped posture. She’d been on since around two that morning and knew from her frequent hall checks that he hadn’t gotten any sleep throughout the night. “Anyone I could call maybe ta give you a break?”   

With a tired huff, he spun back around slowly, shaking his head as he called over his shoulder, “No. I’m all ‘e’s got - there ain’t anybody else.”  


	27. And Who Knows If The Morning Will Follow The Night?

“H’llo?”

“Is this the Allan room?”  

“Yeah. Jen, is’at you?”

Smiling into the receiver, she leaned up against the information booth and adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder. “Yeah, it’s me. How’re ya doin’?”

She hadn’t recognized his voice on the phone - it sounded... _different._

“Ah, I’m doin’ okay,” he said tiredly, his voice lower than it normally was. “Sorry uh...sorry I missed ya last night, Jenny. Dad just...”  

“It’s okay,” she answered truthfully, although at the time it had hurt a little, wishing there was something she could do to help ease the burden he was shouldering, but so far, he’d been intent on keeping everything to himself. “Uh, listen, I hope I didn’t come at a bad time, but I’m down in the lobby.”

She thought she heard a sigh over the phone, but couldn’t be sure from all the hustle and bustle from the main entrance of the hospital going on behind her.

“In the lobby?” he asked after remaining silent for several moments.

She frowned, thinking that he sounded a little less than happy that she’d stopped by to see him. It had been several days since his father had been admitted to the hospital and she’d heard little or nothing from Wace so far. She’d wanted to stop by sooner, but he said that he’d meet up with her the night before - then he’d backed out at the last minute.  

“Yeah,” she said, suddenly unsure of whether she’d made the right decision or not. He hadn’t exactly sounded like he was excited to see her. “Unless, I mean - if you don’t want me ta come up, I’ll -”  

“No, no,” he said quickly. “It’s just that...well, I mean, Dad’s asleep right now, so I guess...yeah, I guess it’ll be all right if ya come up. Maybe we can go sit out in the lounge or somethin’.”  

“Well, if you’re busy, Wace...” she offered, uncertain of whether he really wanted her up there at all and a little disquieted by his reluctance.  

“No, Jen,” he said with an apologetic sigh, and she instantly regretted any ill feelings toward him. “Just come on up, okay? I really wanna see ya. I’ll be waitin’ by the lift.”  

After a quick good-bye, she asked the woman manning the information booth which direction she needed to go for the elevators. By the time she’d wound her way through the hallways and around the corners to find the blasted alcove, she thought it might’ve been quicker just to use the stairwell by the main door and walk the four flights up. Once she was inside the carriage, her nerves set in as she realized exactly what she was about to do.  

She was about to meet Wace’s father.  

Well, maybe not in so many words - Wace _had_ said he was asleep, but the fact that he was there made her slightly edgy. She’d never so much as seen the man before, even though she and Wace had dated for almost four years. She had the feeling that Wace liked it that way.  

She could sympathize.  

The ‘ping’ of the lift, letting her know that she’d arrived at her intended floor, startled her back into the present, and she held her breath as the door slid slowly open. She didn’t bother trying to hide the smile that broke free when her eyes fell on him. True to his word, he’d been waiting by the door, leaning slightly against a spare gurney that was being stored in the hallway. He tried to smile back, but the attempt fell flat before it even reached his lips.

She felt her heart clench when she noticed how ragged he looked. “Hey, baby,” she said softly, walking over to him to wrap her arms around his exhausted body.  

He fell bonelessly into her embrace. “Hey,” he muttered against her neck.  

She placed a kiss on his throat when his arms came up around her back. “How ya holdin’ up?” she asked, not bothering to pull away from him. It felt too damn good to be back in his arms again.  

“Been better,” he answered truthfully, seemingly content to stay wrapped up in her as well. He was too worn out to put on his brave face at the moment.  

For a few moments they stood there, in the middle of the hallway foyer, not caring if they were in the way of anyone.  

Jen finally leaned back, taking a moment to look up at his haggard face before she spoke. “How is ‘e?”  

Shrugging, he disentangled himself from her arms, promptly stuffing his hands into his back pockets - a nervous gesture of his that she’d picked up on over the years. “The same, really, I guess,” he answered lamely, looking anywhere but her eyes. “They don’t know that there’s much they can do for ‘im ‘cept keep ‘im on all that bloody medication they’re pumpin’ ‘im full of. Doctors said ‘is liver’s practically gone.”  

She nodded, not sure of what she could say that would do anything for him. Instead, she reached for his hand, pulling gently on his arm to remove it from his pocket, then gave it a light squeeze as she entwined her fingers with his. He gave her a tight smile then turned to the side, pulling her hand with his arm behind his back, and leaving it to rest on his hip. He let go of her then, and draped his now-free arm across her shoulders, tucking her tiny frame against his body as he led them silently to the lounge area at the end of the hall.  

They sat for what seemed like half an hour, side-by-side, arms still wrapped around one another, neither of them speaking a word until a nurse came and interrupted them.  

“Mr. Allan?” she asked, making sure she had his attention. “Your father’s awake - ‘e’s askin’ for ya.”  

She paused for another moment or two by the doorway, her face holding a look of sympathy while she waited to see if he was going to get up and follow her.   Jen watched him as well, taking note of the way he’d immediately stiffened in her arms.

“Wace?” she asked a few seconds later, when he’d yet to move.  

He brought his head up slowly, not visually acknowledging either of the women in the room as he rose to his feet. With a blind hand, he reached back for Jen, pulling her to stand so she could walk with him. The nurse, a petite, young blonde decked out in her uniform whites, stepped back from her spot in the doorway and let the two of them pass. They walked down the hall silently. In the relatively noiseless atmosphere of the fourth floor, the unintelligible shouting could be heard before they even broached the room.

Jen couldn’t help but notice the way his hand began twitching in hers. It felt like she was following him to his execution, walking the last mile with him. She didn’t realize at the moment how true that analogy was.  

“Where th’ _fuck_ is ‘e?” came a loud bellow from inside.  

Pulling his hand from hers, keeping his eyes trained on the open door, he held out one finger, motioning for her to stay out in the hall for a moment while he went in and tried to smooth things over. A nurse stepped out quickly a few seconds later, not even bothering to hide the relief on her face as she disappeared down the corridor.

Cringing, she jumped at the sudden sound of the harsh, gritty bark of his father’s voice. The absolute...power that it held sent shivers through her spine and she remembered the tremble of Wace’s hand in hers.  

The slow, smooth drawl of his voice provided a sharp contrast to the roar of his father and she smiled at his attempt to calm the man. Sensing that the situation was pretty much under control, she took a tentative step around the edge of the doorframe, making her presence in the hallway known.  

Her eyes fell directly on the man lying in the bed and she had to recover and hide the shock on her face at what she saw. She’d always pictured him as a large man, one that positively _loomed_ over you, especially coupled with that voice. But no. He was small, almost frail-looking, lying there in that bed.

Then again, she supposed he was entitled to looking a little sickly.  

“Ahh - so this is the one ya’ve been _sneakin’_ out ta see for all these years,” he said, his voice thick and gurgly from the fluid pooling at the back of his throat. “Finally brought ‘er in ta see the old man, did ya?”  

Jen started to smile, taking what he’d said as a harmless joke from an old man, but then she saw his eyes and the dark look he gave as he made no attempts to hide his once-over of her. His leer felt like a physical touch and she fought to hide the automatic shudder that rippled through her. The corners of her mouth slowly slid down into an emotionless line and she took the seat Wace had offered her.  

“This is uh...this is Jen, Dad,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically shaky as he fell into his own chair. “Jen Taylor.”  

The old man just grunted, turning his head to face directly ahead, doing a fine job of ignoring them both.

Jen cast Wace a glace through her eyelashes, but he wasn’t looking anywhere near her. In fact, he seemed to be doing pretty much what his father was doing with his gaze averted to something under the bed.  

Deciding not to play along with their stubbornness, she took a good look around the room, taking note of all the machinery and wiring that disappeared behind the bed, the paint and the plaster on the walls that had cracked from the shifting of the old building.  

“This is a nice room they’ve got you in,” she offered up, trying for anything that would ease the tension in the room.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw Wace close his eyes, a pained look crossing his face, and worry twisted in her stomach. Had she said something wrong?  

A bitter laugh sounding from a few feet away brought her attention back to Wace’s father. “A nice room, huh?” he asked, the tone of his voice leaving no room to wonder where he was going with his comment. “It’s a fuckin’ _shit_ hole, but I s’ppose you wouldn’t know what one o’ those is, now would ya?”

When he saw the confused look on her face, he elaborated freely, “No...I imagine you’ve never even been on the inside o’ this place. You’re prob’ly used ta those fancy places in the city, not a dump like this.”  

A quiet sigh from beside her took her focus away from the father and returned it to the son, which she appreciated as she was becoming more distressed with every word the man spoke.  

“Sorry,” the old man said sarcastically, stealing her concentration once more. “You’ll ‘afta forgive my _brutish_ manner I ‘ave sometimes. It’s not quite as refined as you’re prob’ly used to.”  

Silence once again pervaded the tiny room, and Jen found herself sitting, waiting for the next outburst to happen. Was this how it always was for Wace? She shuddered at the thought.

His gritty voice cut into the calmness of the room again and Jen winced, trying to brace herself for another snide remark, but was surprised when it didn’t go in that direction at all. “So...Miss Taylor - whaddya do for a livin’? Wace’s barely told me a thing about ya.”

She knew there’d be some little jab on the side, but she took it with the thought that it could’ve been much worse. “I’m uh...” she started, clearing her throat before she tried again. “I’m a teacher - at Erko Public. First grade.”  

Nodding, he made a face of mock impression and turned his head toward Jen. “Tha’s not too shabby. Ya must like school then, huh?”  

Slightly worried at where the line of conversation was going to go - having learned to expect that much already in her short visit - she nodded. “I do. I like workin’ with the children. ”

“Wace didn’t even finish school,” he continued on with a laugh, as if his only goal of starting the conversation was to make that statement. “Never suited ‘im much. Nothin’ like that ever did. Too fancy an’ high-falutin’ for ‘im. Ain’t much to ‘im.”  

“Dad, please...” Wace said softly, chancing a look up at his father.   

Jen could tell that he was embarrassed, especially having the conversation taking the turn that it had and she positively ached for him, at a loss for what she could do. She wanted to reach over and take his hand, give him a supportive squeeze, but she dreaded the thought of what this antagonistic old man would have to say about that. Probably make some comment about how he had to have somebody hold his hand all the time...  

“What year did you finish again?” his dad asked thoughtfully, completely ignoring anything Wace had said.   

Looking at him, Jen thought that it was possible he hadn’t even heard the hushed plea to begin with. He was too wrapped up in the chance at making another cutting remark. Wace mumbled something that neither of them heard, so when his father turned and looked at him from his bed, it prompted him to repeat himself.   

“Eighth, Dad. Eighth year,” he said quietly.  

“Eighth - I think Barky made it farther than that,” he laughed, shaking his head. “And that boy quit everythin’ ‘is bloody ‘and touched!”  

Feeling a knot of anxiety in her stomach, not knowing if it would make things better or worse but feeling compelled to let Wace know she was on his side, she spoke up gently. “Well, he’s done very well, regardless,” she demurred, soft pride in her tone.   

The old man’s eyes turned toward her and she instinctively drew back from the dark fire she saw in them. “You ain’t that good of a teacher, _Miss Taylor_ ,” he said with deliberate venom. “The only thing you’ve taught my son is how ta lie to ‘is father an’ tiptoe aroun’ like a fuckin’ pansy-assed ballerina.”  

“Dad --” Wace started again, and Jen could read the fear in his eyes. She didn’t know exactly what he was afraid of, but the emotion was as plain as day.  

His father instantly turned on him. “And I’m about _sick_ and fuckin’ tired o’ you runnin’ your mouth back at me, boy,” he bit out harshly, jabbing a thick, calloused finger in Wace’s direction, looking as menacing as anything she’d ever seen before, even from the hospital bed. “‘Specially in front o’ your little goddamned whore. You’ll shut your yap if ya know what’s good for ya.”

Anger flared within her at his nerve, hot like liquid fire running through her veins. She’d already had about enough of everything that this vile man was dishing out and he’d just crossed the line. She turned her head sharply, fully expecting Wace to say something, _anything_ in her defense if not in his own - half-surprised that he hadn’t already - but felt her line of emotions come to a screeching halt when she saw him.  

The defeated slump to his shoulders, the way his fingers pulled nervously at his hair while his forehead rested within the cradle of his palm, the bright pink tint that coated his cheeks and the fiery redness that burned at the tops of his ears.

How he’d just...shut down.   

Debra Grayce’s words from four years prior rang in her head and she knew immediately why she hadn’t met this man until several minutes ago.

Silence encompassed the room once more, seemingly just how the old man wanted it as he sighed and rolled back over in his bed, adjusting himself on the too-soft mattress until he was comfortable.  

Fiddling nervously with the purse in her lap, Jen kept her eyes trained on the floor, suddenly realizing the benefit of trying to ignore the situation. Her heart ached for the man sitting beside her, though she knew there was nothing she could do. She knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t accept any help, would rather shoulder it on his own than bring her into the mess, but that was the absolute last thing she wanted.

She stole a glance at his father, who was resting peacefully in his bed, looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world, having totally forgotten how he’d just humiliated his son. Feeling righteous indignation rising once more at just the sight of him, she looked away, letting her eyes fall back onto Wace.  

He still hadn’t moved, hadn’t appeared to take a breath since his father had last spoken. She wanted to reach her hand out to him, to touch him, let him somehow know she was there, but didn’t think that he’d want that. The situation wasn’t the same as when she’d first seen him, when she could give him that and he could take it. Now, it would only cause him more trouble with his father, and her resentment ran deep into bitterness towards the old man for stealing away the one form of comfort she knew without a doubt how to give.  

Her head turned suddenly as a nurse entered the room behind them, a syringe in her hand.  

“Mr. Allan,” the nurse called warily, both men turning their heads.

She gave Wace a nervous smile and looked to his father. “We need to give you your afternoon medication.”  

Not even having the good grace to mutter his curses under his breath, the old man thrust out his arm - the one with the IV attached - and shut his eyes.

Catching Wace’s attention for a moment, Jen tried to convey as much love, as much understanding as she could in those tiny seconds, but felt it was all for naught when the now-familiar grunt sounded from in front of them. He turned his head quickly, his eyes focusing on his father as the man started to quickly fade into oblivion once more.  

Even before the plunger had been pressed all the way down, his eyes started fluttering; he was just that weak, probably having worn himself out from the fit he’d thrown minutes before.  

When the nurse was finished and left, Wace stood, going to the end of the bed where a blanket was folded and started to pull it up around his father’s legs. A small groan was heard from the patient as he started to fidget, obviously trying to fight off the effects of the medication.  

When Wace got the covers up around his waist and was about to step back, a hand shot out from under the blankets, clipping him in the forearm.  

“Off,” came a slurred mumble, as his fingers gripped tightly around Wace’s wrist.  

“Dad,” he started, grimacing at the tightness of the hold on his arm. “Le’ go, all right?”  

“Fuckin’ off...offa me.”  

Jen cast him a worried glance and moved to set her purse down, but Wace caught her action and held out his free hand to stop her.

“Just wait,” he barked impatiently, then softened with a visible effort when she flinched. “Just -- wait a second, okay? ‘e gets like this when ‘e’s tryin’ ta hold out against the stuff they give ‘im.”

Turning his attention back to his father once more, he started to peel the blanket back, letting it come to lay at his feet. “There, Dad - s’fine now, okay? Just go on...go ta sleep. Stop fightin’ it.”  

He mumbled something again and this time neither of them could understand it. Gradually, his grip began to loosen and his hand eventually fell away with a tired breath escaping from his lips, signaling his surrender to sleep.  

Wace fell back into his chair with an aggravated sigh then let his head roll around, the bones in his neck giving off a loud, hollow ‘pop.’  

“You okay?” Jen asked quietly, turning her body to face him.

He shook his head in the negative, then tossed his chin toward his father without any further elaboration.   

***

“Sorry ‘bout that back there - with ‘im,” he clarified needlessly, gesturing over his shoulder with a jab of his thumb. He still hadn’t managed to look her in the face.  

“‘S’fine,” she excused, the honesty in her voice sounding as true as she felt it.  
“Are you okay?” she finally asked.  

He shrugged, but the motion was awkward. His hands were stuffed deep into his pockets again. “Doesn’t matter,” he said carelessly, speaking up again before she could argue with his last statement. “Listen, uh...Jen - I don’t...I dunno if you should come back ‘ere anymore.”  

He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in before continuing. “When ‘e...when ‘e’s on that medication ‘e...well, ‘e’s not really ‘imself - don’ know what ‘e’s doin’.”

The way her head fell, he knew that he’d hurt her, and God - that was the _last_ thing he wanted to do, but he figured that her being upset now would be a small price to pay compared to what she’d be feeling if she made it a habit of stopping by the hospital.   “It’s not that...I mean, it’s not that I don’ want ya ‘ere, Jenny -”  

“It’s fine, Wace,” she said quickly, cutting him off with a forced smile. “I understand - I do.”  

He sighed, taking one of his hands out from his pocket and reaching for her. She took it, grasping it tightly as she pulled herself into his arms.  

“Thank you,” he said quietly, letting his chin rest on top of her head. “I know I don’t...Jenny, I’m sorry I can’t...”

From the way that she squeezed him tighter, he knew it was okay that he couldn’t find the words he needed and he felt his heart swell forcefully against its constraints as it tried to swallow the acceptance she’d given him.   

“It’s fine,” she repeated, leaning back from their embrace and casting a warm smile up at him. “I’m just gonna head on,” she added softly, finally pulling away from his body, though she trailed her fingers down his arms and took both of his hands in hers.   

Stretching up on her toes so she could place a light kiss on his cheek, she whispered in his ear that she loved him.  

“Love you too,” answered back, trying - and failing - to keep his reply from sounding mechanical. His body had been on autopilot for the past four days - _everything_ was mechanical.   

“Well,” she said quickly, sucking in a breath as she pulled her hands up to his chest and pressed her palms flat against him, “I uh...you can call me - any time, okay? I don’ even care if it’s at four in the mornin’, Wace.”  

He nodded stiffly, hoping she’d take just that as an agreement and not press for anything more. He couldn’t give it at the moment.  

“And you can...if you ever get tired and just need ta rest, I want ya t’come over, all right?” she added, lifting her hands to the side of his face and holding him there for a short time. “I love you,” she said again, rising up once more to kiss him, this time on the lips.   

“Bye, Jen,” he breathed quietly, his eyelids falling slightly from the warmth of her kiss.

She gave him one last smile and stepped back from him, holding onto his hand until they fell away from one another completely. “Bye, baby,” she said quickly and turned to leave before she had to kiss him again.   

He stood there, under the awning of the main entrance and watched her car as she left. He saw her wave good-bye to him through the driver’s window and he dug up the strength from somewhere within his reserves to lift his hand as well.   His eyes followed her until the car disappeared around the corner, and even then, he watched the spot where he’d last seen her.

His mind trailed off, wandering around some solitary place that only it could go and he had to literally snap himself out of the daze.   With a sigh, he turned, hesitating for just the slightest of moments before he went back into the hospital. His eyes caught the clock at the reception desk as he walked by and he shook his head.

It was going to be another long night.


	28. And The Tenderness It Breaks Us

She heard the scrape of the key in the lock and looked up from where she was curled up in bed reading a book. When she heard the front door open and shut, she called out, “Wace? Is that you?”  

“Yeah, ‘s’me,” he mumbled as he staggered through her bedroom door, and she immediately put down her book and got up from the bed, going to him. “Hey, baby,” she said softly, leaning up to kiss him beside his mouth.

He pulled back, just a little, and she paused, confused by his reaction. “You look exhausted.”  

“Yeah,” he agreed absently, walking around her to the bed. He sat down on the edge and kicked off his shoes, lying back on the pillow and tossing his arm across his eyes.

Jen regarded him for a moment, biting her lip, before she finally went back to her side of the bed and climbed in. She picked up her book again, then cast an uncertain glance toward the man sprawled beside her. 

“Does the light bother you?” she asked quietly. “Want me to turn it out?”

“Nah,” he muttered. “S’fine.”  

Worry creased her forehead and she went back to trying to read her book, but found she couldn’t concentrate. All her thoughts were with Wace, trying to get a read on him. Was he just tired, or was something else wrong, something deeper than just his emotional and physical exhaustion?

She shook her head at herself. Like he needed anything worse than what he was already going through to justify a little moodiness. She just wished there was something she could do for him - she hated seeing him like this and feeling so _helpless_.

After a few minutes, she let her foot slide across the covers, bumping his gently, but he didn’t respond. She let another moment pass before she reached over and brushed her fingertips over the back of his hand. He grunted a little but gave no other reaction, and she slipped her hand under his, tangling their fingers together. She went back to her book, content with this small measure of contact, until she felt him pull his hand away.  

Alarmed, she looked up from her book to see him sitting up, leaning over to put his shoes back on.   

“Where ya goin’, baby?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice neutral despite the anxiety she could feel mounting in her gut. The last thing he needed right now was her sounding needy or as if she were nagging him.

“Back to tha hospital,” he answered tiredly, frustration evident in his tone, and she flinched involuntarily at the harshness of his voice.  

“You sure?” she ventured, not daring to say anything further. She knew he’d been nowhere except work and the hospital since his father had been admitted, and she figured those chairs couldn’t be very comfortable to sleep in. He couldn’t possibly be getting enough rest.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said flatly, and she ducked her head, hiding her expression in case he looked up to see the hurt in her eyes before she could hide it. She needn’t have worried; he was concentrating on tying his shoes like it was the most important thing in the world.

He stood abruptly, striding toward the door, and no matter how much she told herself to just let him go, let him do what he had to do, she couldn’t manage to stop herself from calling out his name and reaching a hand towards him.

He halted, turning with an air of long-suffering, and she fiercely tamped down the resentment and hurt that sprang up within her. With some reluctance, he obeyed her unspoken request and came around to her side of the bed, taking her hand. She tugged him down a little, bringing her mouth up to his and kissing him tenderly.  

He pulled back before she was quite finished, and she hoped the rejection didn’t show in her eyes. Determined to just let him go since he obviously wasn’t in the mood for any kind of comfort or affection, she let her hand slip from his and said quietly, “G’night, baby. Try to get some rest, okay?”

He pushed a heavy breath through his nose and barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. She looked away quickly, stung, and she heard a soft sigh just before she felt his fingertips catch her chin, turning her face toward him again.

“Hey,” he said softly, and she turned her eyes away from him, unable to deal with her emotions at the moment. “Jenny, please,” he insisted, and she finally looked back at him, blinking rapidly and hoping that she didn’t start crying.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and she felt the sincerity in his apology, although she also felt the distance he was still keeping between them.

“It’s okay,” she shrugged. “I know you’re tired. I’m sorry I’m... making so many demands on you.”

“Nah, ‘s’not that.” It was his turn to not meet her eyes for a moment, seeming to focus somewhere just below her left ear. “S’just...”  

“I understand,” she said, although she really didn’t. She did, however, realize that something in him couldn’t handle the weight of her affections just then, although it was meant to be a support, not a burden. He just couldn’t see it that way.  

A half-smile tugged across his mouth and he leaned in, kissing her cheek. “G’night, Jenny,” he said quietly, and she did her best to put on a brave face, smiling back at him, though her heart wasn’t in it.

“G’night,” she answered, going back to her book as he left the house as abruptly as he’d entered it.

Only after she heard the lock turn on the front door did she look up from the pages she wasn’t reading as if she could see his aura lingering in the room. The tears she’d been fighting finally welled up in her eyes and she swiped them away angrily.

The man she loved was slipping away and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.  


	29. It's Never For Nothing When You Love With No Return

“You up for a game?” Trunny asked, looking over the pool table at the woman sitting sideways in the small booth, leaning up against the wall with her feet propped up in front of her.  

Jen shook her head without looking at him, and he frowned. She’d swung by the King’s Hotel looking for Wace, only to have Trunny tell her that Coppa had driven him up to the hospital. She’d chosen to stay, hoping they’d be back, but had been able to do little else than sit and worry, chewing on her thumbnail.  

He’d be the last to admit it, but Trunny actually had something of a soft spot for Wace’s girlfriend. When he’d first heard that Wace was dating her years ago, he’d trailed off into a string of curses and dire predictions of how she was going to be a stuck-up bitch and how school teachers were nothing but trouble, ever. She’d proven him wrong and won his respect, and over the years, he’d developed a sense of admiration for her. She made a difference in Wace without really changing him, and that was something anyone could appreciate.  

“They oughta be back any minute now,” he said quietly, seeing the way her eyes flickered between the window and the door. “Or -- you know, they mighta gone back to Wace’s, or maybe to the house...”

Wace had begun staying at Trunny and Coppa’s more and more in recent days as he’d been spending a majority of his time at the hospital and needed a place nearby to crash on the occasions he bothered to leave his father’s bedside.  

Jen nodded slowly, acknowledging the information, but didn’t seem prepared to do anything about it. Trunny thought that he’d never seen her quite so preoccupied and fidgeted with the pool stick he was holding, uncertain of how to fix things. The awkward silence in the room finally seemed to snap her out of her daze and she looked at him in surprise, embarrassment crossing her face when she noticed the way he was just standing there, watching her.  

“I’m sorry, Trun,” she apologized, forcing a bright smile and light tone. “I’m terrible company today.”  

“S’okay,” Trunny shrugged, not meeting her eyes for a moment. “Nothin’ new around ‘ere. Wace’s been a fuckin’ bundle o’ sunshine ta be around.” Sarcasm was heavy in his voice and his gaze flicked to her, worried that she’d be offended at his referring to Wace that way.  

She didn’t seem upset, though; was just studying her hands as if her skin were the most fascinating substance on earth. After a while, she murmured, “I’m worried about ‘im, Trunny.... he just...” She took a deep breath and held it for a moment before blowing it out sadly. “He just can’t seem ta get outta this darkness, ya know? It’s eatin’ ‘im up, an’ I’m scared there won’t be anythin’ left of ‘im by the time this is over...”  

A strange sort of fear twisted in Trunny’s stomach at the accuracy of her assessment. He’d never really thought of it that way, but there was definitely more going on with Wace than just his normal temper and jack-assedness. The thought of things getting even worse wasn’t one he wanted to dwell on, and he looked for any way to find a bright side or a solution.  

“Maybe ya could get ‘is mind off it for a little while,” he suggested awkwardly, hastening to add, “Y’know, take ‘im to a show... some kinda fuckin’ comedy shit or somethin’, so maybe ‘e’d laugh, make him feel better.”  

She cast him a dubious look and he shrugged. “Just an idea, y’know.”  

“I don’t think Wace an’ I ‘ave ever gone ta see a show,” she commented idly.  

“Never?” he asked in disbelief.

Wace went to the cinema with his friends fairly regularly -- it had become a ritual when they’d started cutting classes to go see the new shows at the afternoon matinees.  

“Nope.” She shook her head. “Never. We jus’... it was jus’ never somethin’ we did.” She shrugged. “I dunno. We were always too busy talkin’ or... well, we jus’ always ended up doin’ somethin’ else.” She tilted her head as if thinking about it. “Does ‘e like ta go to the cinema?”  

“Fuck yeah,” Trunny answered, nodding enthusiastically and lining up a shot on the pool table now that the conversation had progressed onto more stable ground. “Me an’ ‘im an’ Copp usedta go all the time... up until ‘is dad got sick an’ all.”  

She nodded thoughtfully, then looked at her watch and bit her lip. “I think I’m gonna try ringin’ ‘im at your house,” she said, gesturing toward the battered phone in the corner.

Trunny nodded his approval and she picked up the handset, then glanced over her shoulder with a sheepish grin.  

“What’s your number, Trun?”  

He told her as he tapped the cue ball soundly, sending it spinning across the table toward a cluster of solids and stripes in the corner. They all rattled together gently, one or two plopping into the pocket, and he was walking around to get to the cue ball again when he heard Jen say cautiously, “Wace?”  

“Yeah?” Wace answered gruffly, and Trunny paused, not feeling the least bit guilty for eavesdropping. The old phone was ridiculously loud and he could clearly hear both sides of the conversation.  

“‘Ey, it’s me,” Jen offered, cringing at the lameness of the statement.  

“Yeah, got that,” Wace bit off. “Whaddya want, Jen?”  

“Oh, I was jus’... y’know, I’m free t’night an’ was jus’ ringin’ ta see if maybe you wanted to do somethin’...”  

There was a loud sigh that even Trunny could hear clearly and Wace answered in heavily measured tones, “I’m not gonna be here that long. I need ta stay near the hospital t’night. Maybe later.”  

She chewed on her lip for a moment as she visibly debated whether to push him any further, and finally blurted out, “Oh, okay. But I mean, I can come inta town if you wanted... we could go see a show or somethin’. I know you got a lot goin’ on…might help ta take your mind offa things...”  

“Bloody hell,” Wace’s voice on the line crackled with frustration and derision. “When ‘ave we ever gone to a fuckin’ show?”  

Trunny winced and turned away from Jen so he wouldn’t have to see the look on her face, but he couldn’t make himself resume his game.  

“Well, we ‘aven’t, but... I dunno, never mind, Wace. How, um... how are you?”

Jen’s voice sounded small, and Trunny had a bad feeling that she was slowly reaching the end of her rope with her boyfriend.  

“I’m really fuckin’ tired, Jen, an’ I’m not up for a show t’night.”  

“Yeah, okay. Well - all right. I’ll talk to ya later, ‘kay?”

“Later.”  

The line buzzed loudly, letting Trunny know Wace had hung up almost immediately, and he looked over his shoulder at Jen. She was staring listlessly at the handset, and it took her a moment to return it to its cradle. She cleared her throat and reached over to pick up her purse, slinging the strap over her shoulder.

Finally, when she was standing by the door, she looked at Trunny and said quietly, “I’m gonna go.”  

“Okay,” he said because he didn’t know what else to say. “See ya ‘round, Jen.”  

“See ya,” she said with a tired wave as she disappeared out the door.  

Trunny didn’t see the point in hanging around and playing pool by himself, so he put the cue stick away and started walking toward home, his hands in his pockets. He spent the journey in moody thoughtfulness, mulling over the hell that he felt sure was awaiting him at home. When he got upstairs, though, it was dead quiet, and the silence frightened him more than anything.  

He grabbed a beer out of the fridge and went wandering through the flat, looking for his mates. He found Coppa on a crate in the disheveled, soon-to-be-bathroom, rolling a joint, and sat down beside him.  

“How’d it go at hospital this mornin’?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.  

“Wace’s dad ‘ad a stroke,” Coppa answered flatly, and Trunny looked at him in surprise.  

“What?” he asked, blinking. “Whaddya mean ‘e ‘ad a fuckin’ stroke?”  

“Keep your voice down,” Coppa reprimanded. “Don’t get ‘im started up again; ‘e’s ‘avin’ a rough time of it. Just as soon as ‘e finds some kinda papers the bloody nurse ‘as been askin’ for, ‘e’s goin’ right back up there.”  

“Wace?”  

“No, the bloody Pope,” came the sarcastic reply. “Who the fuck else would I be talkin’ about?” Coppa sighed. “Nurses said the stroke ‘appened some time late last night; it was a pretty bad one, an’ they don’t expect ‘im ta last much longer.”  

“Yeah, well, ‘e was already pretty fuckin’ sick, wasn’t ‘e?”  

Coppa nodded in the affirmative, and Trunny trailed off into silence, adding one more event to his list of things that needed processing. “Everythin’s just goin’ ta shit, ain’t it?” he finally commented, and though he didn’t get a response, he again hadn’t expected one.  

He shook his head and relegated everything to the Play It By Ear pile. “Fuckin’ ‘ell.”


	30. My Lover's Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Contains semi-graphic depictions of...not-quite-consensual M/F relations.

She barely heard the soft knock at her door. Getting up from bed, she wrapped her bathrobe around her body and glanced at the clock. It was just after midnight, but she had yet to fall asleep. She couldn’t with the worry gnawing in her stomach.  

Just before she got to the front of the house, she heard the knock again and almost shouted out for them to calm down, that she was on her way, but she stopped herself. She didn’t know who it was, and didn’t want to let them know she was home and by herself just in case.  

After peeking through the eyehole, she let out a sigh of relief as she quickly unlatched the chain lock, then twisted the dead bolt and pulled open the door.

“Hey,” she whispered happily, pushing the screen door open. “Are you okay? Nothing’s wrong, is there?”  

He didn’t answer as he slowly slipped past her and into the front hallway area.  

“Wace?” she questioned gently, putting her hand on his arm. The glassiness in his eyes had her worried.  

He looked down at her then, the contact seeming to snap him out of his daze. “Umm,” he started quietly, confusion flashing across his face. “‘E’s mad at me, so I...I left.”  

“Who’s mad? Your father?” she asked, relieved that he was still alive, for Wace’s sake - she thought something might’ve happened at the hospital.  

He didn’t bother answering her question, just continued on with his story as he stumbled lightly down the dark hallway that led to her bedroom. “I dunno know what I did, but I must’ve...if ‘e was that mad. I guess I...”

His whisper trailed off as he blindly found the edge of the bed and sat down, then started to remove his boots with little success.

Jen sat down next to him, flipping on the night lamp as she did so, and he turned away quickly at the harsh change in light. She apologized, but left it on for a moment so he could actually see what he was doing.

She looked down at his fingers as they numbly tried to undo the knots in his laces. His hands were shaking.  

“Wace? Baby, what’s wrong? Tell me what happened,” she said, leaning down awkwardly and placing her palm over his hands to still them. She’d witnessed the results of his father’s tirades before and while they were always something that cut him, she hadn’t ever seen it go this deep before.   

He didn’t sit up, just stared at the floor for a long moment then cast a sidelong look her way. “I didn’t think ‘e could still yell like that,” he breathed quietly, a haunted smile on his lips.

“What happened?” she asked softly, placing her hand flat on his chest and pulling him upright with her. She ran her fingers up and through his hair and he closed his eyes at her touch. “What’s goin’ on?”

He was quiet for a while, losing himself in the feel of her hands raking slowly across his scalp. It was soothing, comforting - and she knew he needed that.  

“I don’t...I dunno what I did, but...” he said again, his voice shaky with emotion, and when it seemed like he wasn’t going to speak any further she let her hand fall to his shoulder and gave it a little squeeze.

“But what?” she urged gently, keeping her hands moving on him, trying to settle him down as much as she could. “What is it, Wace?”

“Sometimes I just wanna....I can’t ever -”  

He silenced himself with an aggravated shake his head, breathing out a heavy sigh as he kicked one of his shoes off with a rough jab of his foot.   

“Baby, just...just don’t listen to ‘im, okay?” Jen offered up in a soft voice, massaging gentle circles around the knots of tension on his back. “He doesn’t -”  

“I can’t help but listen to ‘im, Jen,” he interrupted, turning on the bed to face her, leaving the one booted foot on the floor. “Don’t you see? ‘E’s always fuckin’ there! I can’t get away from ‘im no matter what I do and it’s like...if...”

He stopped, dropping his head in frustration and she watched quietly as he struggled, trying to find the words to tell her what he was feeling.

“It’s like when I think about it sometimes - about leavin’ or-or tryin’ ta get away from ‘im, it’s like he already knows and I can’t help thinkin’ that...I dunno what he’d do ta me if -” 

“He won’t do _any_ thing, Wace,” she argued, suddenly overcome with the urge to let him know that he _had_ an escape, that nothing would happen and no one would blame him. “He _can’t_ do anything.”

“ _Yes_ , ‘e – ”

He stopped abruptly, wiping at his eyes compulsively, even though they were bone dry. He looked as if he was trying to say something, but cut himself off again, shaking his head and cupping his palm around his mouth as he propped his elbow against his knee.  

Jen closed her eyes, a familiar anger boiling within her for what that man did to him. _To his son._ It wasn’t the first time she’d wished the man dead, but with as much as she hated him, and as hard as it was for her to understand, given the circumstances, she knew that his passing would just tear Wace up inside.  

“What is it?” she prodded, gently taking his face into her own hands and letting the pads of her thumbs stroke at his temples, trying to ease away some of the tension coating his features.  

He shook his head once more, his shoulders slumped over heavily. “It’s like ‘e’s a part o’ me, Jen,” he whispered shakily, keeping his eyelids screwed tightly as he spoke. “Like ‘e’s crawled up inside o’ me and ‘e just won’t let go. I’ve tried so fuckin’ ‘ard ta dig ‘im out, but...‘e’s in there for good now, I know it.”

He looked up at her then, eyes saturated with the fear of what he might find directed back at him.

Letting her hands falls slowly from his face, her fingers trailing lightly behind, holding onto him as long as they could, she took his hands in hers and gripped them tightly, hating with everything in her the sound of that weary defeat in his voice.  

“I wasn’t suppose’ta be like this.”

It came out in a hushed whisper, almost an apology of sorts, and if it hadn’t been for the silence of the night, she wouldn’t have understood his words.  

“Like what?” she asked, her heart absolutely aching.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled after a still moment, pulling away from her, sliding his leg off the bed and planting his foot beside the other one.  

When Jen saw that he was reaching for his boot - probably so he could leave - she bent down to stop him, taking a hold of his hand. He kept moving, ignoring her restraining fingers on his, until she leaned around and kissed him suddenly. She pulled back just as he opened his mouth, his eyes heavy-lidded and boring into her with a strange, heated darkness. She had his attention now.  

“Wace,” she started, but he cut her off, sitting up and holding her with a hand on her jaw, and latched their mouths together in a hard kiss. She flinched back on reflex, the dull throb on her upper lip becoming aggravated as his mouth worked against hers, but he held tight, his hand sliding around to grip her hair.  

She whimpered into his mouth, but not from pleasure, and somewhere in the haze of his mind, he knew to back away, to give her some space for a moment. They broke breathlessly.  

“You’ve been drinking, haven’t you.”  

It wasn’t a question. She could feel the burn of alcohol against her lips, could taste it on her tongue. He wasn’t himself, and she felt a fluttering of fear in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to pull away from him, to push back, to retreat to a safe distance, but...  

“Jenny? Please?”  

 _God,_ his eyes. The hurt in them, in the roughness of his voice as he said her name...it just went so deep, and this was the only way she could think to take it from him.  

“Wace, I -”  

“Shh...” he whispered gently, cupping her head in his hand once more and bringing her face toward his.

Softly this time he moved his mouth over hers, drawing moans and tiny cries of want as he went. She could feel his pulse racing, his heartbeat pounding against her chest.

Down to the mattress he leaned, pulling her with and under him. She relaxed under his weight, the feeling so familiar she told herself that it had to be right. It wasn’t what she’d wanted to, but if it was what he needed, she could give him this.

With one hand he maneuvered the button on his jeans out and worked his fly so he could pull his pants down. He pushed off her robe to find she had on a ratty t-shirt and a pair of cotton underwear beneath.  

“Wace,” she started again, surprise making her voice high and breathy, her eyes going wide as he slid his hands under her panties and began to push them down her legs with a speed that startled her. “Baby, wait...”  

Heedless of her mild protest, he shoved himself inside her quickly, with one thrust; he just couldn’t wait. She whimpered audibly from the roughness, but he covered her mouth once more with his, swallowing any sounds of protests with his own grunts.

Once he was inside her, he began to move slowly, easing her pain away with his rhythm. She started to rock against him, her hands clutching at his shoulders urging him on. It had been weeks since they’d had anything close to sex and as worried as she was about the way he’d been acting before, it quickly dissolved with the warmth escalating between the two of them.  

She kissed him deeply, sucking at his tongue, breaking the contact briefly to draw in a breath. She moved her hips against his, trying to guide his uncoordinated movements in a new direction. He pulled away from her and, kissing her chastely, he let his mouth wander down to her neck, his tongue licking at her collarbone and up the pulsing vein beneath her skin.  

She felt her legs come up around him, holding him in place as she had so many times before. Heat was blossoming throughout her body, her muscles tightening and fluttering with each movement of his hips against hers, and she licked her lips, tasting sweat on them... and alcohol. She shuddered at the reminder that he was half-drunk, that something was happening that was bad enough to drive him to abandon the gentleness he’d always had with her...  

His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, his face twisted in a grimace as sweat beaded on his forehead. She moved one hand to his jaw, brushing her fingertips over his open mouth, feeling tiny cracks in the dried skin of his lips. He grunted deeply then, and she felt the shift in his mood before she could think to analyze it.

His eyes snapped open, fixing on hers, but they were glassy, unfocused. Real fear was creased in the lines on his face where his eyebrows drew together, the way his lips were now pressed tightly closed. He shook his head once, sweat dripping from his hair into her face, and she blinked against the saltiness as it splashed near her eyes. His thrusts were coming quick and deep now, and the metal from his zipper bit harshly into her thighs as she squirmed around him. 

“Wace,” she called out gently, shifting her shoulders under the powerful weight of his forearms. “Baby, please...slow down, okay?”

She didn’t seem to be reaching him - he was too far gone...and that scared her worse than anything so far. She wasn’t so much afraid of the physical pain, but she was frightened for him - frightened that he had gone somewhere he would never come back from. Despite herself, she felt tears brim in her eyes as she called his name shakily again.  

When he didn’t respond, ducking his head and pumping into her relentlessly, she felt the tears overflow, trickling down the sides of her face as she threaded her hands in his hair and closed her eyes.

Where are you, my beautiful boy? she thought desperately.  

*** 

She woke suddenly, with the conviction that things were very, very wrong. Her fingers clutched at the sheet below her, and she pushed herself up a little, trying to get a handle on what was out of place. Maneuvering into a sitting position, she pushed her tangled hair out of her eyes and looked around groggily. She scrubbed her hands over her face, pausing at the slight stickiness beneath her palms. Had she been crying?   

A glance at the clock revealed that it was 4:14 AM and she yawned, shifting quickly to reach over and turn on the bedside lamp. The motion twisted her body in just the right way to make her suddenly aware of a raw irritation on her inner thighs and a kind of soreness she hadn’t experienced in a long time, and she suddenly remembered.  

Wace.  

He’d been here - and now he wasn’t.   

She struggled to recall past the thick haze of sleep that hung around her mind... she remembered him coming from the hospital, half-drunk... his hands on her, the raspy need in his voice...

_“Jenny, please?”_

She remembered everything, the way he’d fallen asleep almost immediately after he’d come, sliding to the bed beside her and leaving her empty and wanting - not that she thought she would have been able to climax, given her emotional state - and how she’d curled up at his side and cried into his shoulder, his shirt soaking up her helpless tears.   

She looked around for any evidence as to his whereabouts - there was no light coming from the bathroom or the living room, so he wasn’t there... she swung her legs off the mattress, slowly pushing herself to a standing position and grimacing at the twinges of pain that greeted her. He’d been rougher than she’d realized.  

“Wace?” she called, repeating it when she received no answer. She padded out into the hallway, peeking into the bathroom and flipping on the light just to make sure he wasn’t sitting there, in the dark. After the way he’d acted earlier, she couldn’t be certain.   

Her eyes scanned the bathroom for any sign of him, but there was nothing. An icy chill shot through her and she repeated her visual survey of the room. There was nothing. The extra toothbrush she’d bought for the nights he stayed over was gone, along with his spare razor and aftershave. She stepped fully into the room, feeling everything inside of her freezing with cold devastation, as if the floor was dropping out from under her.  

She reached out and brushed her fingers over the toothbrush holder, now holding only her brush, as if somehow she’d be able to tell how long his had been gone. She noticed that her hand was shaking and jerked it back, holding it against her body.  

“Wace!?” she called more urgently now, although she knew he wouldn’t answer. “Wace?”   

Tears brimmed in her eyes without warning, spilling over as she blinked. She dashed into the living room, but nothing was different there. Back into her bedroom, noticing that his boots were missing from beside her door. She yanked open the drawer in her dresser where he’d kept a spare shirt and an extra pair of jeans - it was empty. Running to her closet, she threw it open, her hand going out to grasp for the button-down shirt he’d worn only once and then accidentally left there... it was gone, too.

Some part of her brain registered surprise that he’d even remembered it.  

Her legs were trembling now and she stumbled backwards until she bumped into the bed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and pressing the palms of her hands against her stomach to mute the twisting, falling sensation. She closed her eyes, her mind reeling from the implications, the irrefutable evidence.   

 _My God_ , she thought, stunned. _He’s gone._   


	31. Only Love Can Leave Such A Mark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Brief, graphic violence.

She knew when she found him that everything was on its way to hell and the devil himself had his eye on Wace.

He was slumped on the couch, the dull gleam of bottles winking back at him from the coffee table. Jen estimated there must be at least twelve there, and from the glazed look in his eyes, he’d consumed them all in short order.   

“Hey, baby,” she said softly as she dropped her purse to the floor, her keys sliding onto the table with a grating sound as she shut the front door behind her.

He hadn’t so much as responded when she’d thrown open the door and come barging in, her hair flying about, her eyes wide with worry. She’d gone to the hospital first, then called Coppa when he wasn’t there, but the man hadn’t seen him; neither had Trunny, nor had Wace shown up at work. That was unsurprising; he was on leave from both his jobs due to his dad’s hospitalization.  

But when ringing the house had gotten her nothing, not even the answering machine, she’d been terrified of what that might mean and had rushed straight over. Now, as she stepped forward cautiously, he still didn’t acknowledge her presence, just tilted back his current bottle, taking a long swig.  

“Wace, no,” she pleaded, reaching for the bottle to take it away from him.  

“Th’ _fuck_ d’you want?” he snarled, moving the bottle out of her reach but not looking at her. “’dja come ‘ere ta see some pathetic fuck-up pissin’ ‘imself t’hell?”  

Jen bit her lip, her hand frozen where she’d extended it, nervousness and pure fear writhing in her stomach. She could feel the beginning of tears somewhere in her throat and mentally flailed for something to say to make it better. His erratic behavior last night, the way he’d been so desperate, so needy - the dark demons that had been tormenting him flavoring his kisses as much as the traces of alcohol on his lips - and then awakening to find him gone this morning... she was frazzled with worry, scrambling for some way to hold the threads together, but they were unraveling faster than she could grasp them.  

“Well?” he barked, and she jumped a little, pulled out of her concentration. “Did ya?”  

“No,” she answered simply, shaking her head.

She didn’t know what else to say - how to say it to make him believe her. She wanted to tell him he wasn’t what he thought he was, not what his past and his father made him believe he was. She wanted to show him how she saw him, to make him see all the beautiful parts he had inside, all the love she couldn’t help having for him.  

“Then what?” he demanded, finally turning his eyes to her, and the rage and fear she saw there seemed to suck the air right out of her lungs.  

“I love you,” she said slowly.

There it was - her only explanation for anything when it came to Wace. She just loved him. It was the way it always had been, the only reason she’d needed.  

He snorted, turning away from her again, and she felt anger and hurt rise within her. Logically, she knew not to take it personally; knew he was drunk, angry, and hiding behind the walls he was throwing up around his heart, but it was the first time he’d ever brushed her off, especially in relation to this. She’d gotten used to seeing the downcast look in his eyes when he couldn’t quite believe she loved him, but he’d never been anything but accepting of her need to tell him. Until now.  

“Damn it, Wace,” she snapped, her offense giving her the brass she hadn’t had before to step forward, into his personal space, and snatch the bottle out of his hand, setting it down on the table with its fellows. “Stop it.”  

“You fuckin’ bitch,” he snarled, standing quickly, towering over her so that she was tempted to take a step back. “You’re not my goddamn mother.”  

“Might be a good thing for you to remember that,” Jen said quietly, smarting from his insult.   

“Why don’t you just leave me alone, huh?” Wace demanded, leaning into her, trying to intimidate her physically. It might have worked if she hadn’t been so far gone over the edge. The stress of the past few weeks - months, really - of trying to hold the relationship together, of trying to mend it on the fly, while Wace slowly fell apart right in front of her was all coming to the surface now, and she wasn’t going to be backing down and taking it anymore.  

“If that’s what you want, then fine,” Jen said harshly. “But before I go, there’s some things I gotta tell you, and I want you to listen. You hear me?”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t step away from her, either. His eyes burned into hers and she leaned toward him, getting right into his face.  

“I know you’re dealin’ with a lot of shit. You have been for a while, and I know it’s tearin’ you up inside.”

His eyes flickered away from hers then and she got the feeling he didn’t like admitting that he didn’t have everything under control. But then, that wasn’t news to anyone in the room.

“I know you got problems I know nothin’ about, an’ I know you think I wouldn’t love you if I ever knew what they were. I know you ain’t had an easy time --”  

“You don’t know the _half_ of it,” he growled.  

“I know that too,” she continued without hesitation. “You think you’re so hard, so bad-ass, untouchable under all that swearing and drinking you do.” She noticed when he flinched at her harsh, almost mocking tone, but couldn’t bring herself to stop. “But I got news for you, Wace Allan. I know how bad you’re fucked up, and it doesn’t make a difference to me.”  

“Maybe it should,” he ground out, turning away from her and picking up the half-empty bottle that she’d taken away from him. “Maybe it’d make a difference if you really knew all the shit you pretend to know, all that fuckin’ shit you think you got figured out. You don’t know me at all, so stop tellin’ me everythin’s all fuckin’ dandy an’ just go the fuck away.”  

He tilted the bottle up to his lips and she lost it. Rage swelled up within her and before she could think, she reached up and knocked it out of his hand. The bottle went clattering across the floor into the wall, slinging beer as it went, and there was a single moment where everything seemed to stand still. Before she could process her own actions, much less anything else, there was pain blossoming out from beneath her eye and she cried out, stumbling backwards.  

She brought one hand up to cover her throbbing cheekbone, her eyes flying to Wace with tears of hurt and surprise brimming up in them. He was flexing his hand, rubbing the knuckles a little, and that was when it really dawned on her what had happened: he’d hit her.  

Wace had hit her.  

She choked a little as she tried to hold back a gasping sob, unwilling to let him see her break, and her fingers trembled where they rested against her swelling skin.  

She saw regret and horror flash across his face, but it was gone in an instant, disappearing behind a cold, dull mask as he flopped back down onto the couch, grabbed another bottle from the floor and twisted the cap off, guzzling down another swallow as he stared off into empty space.  

Without a word, Jen ran to the door, grabbing her keys and purse, and fled the house, leaving the door open behind her. Her soul splintered as two words rang through her head with certain finality: _It’s over._   

***  

“’Ey, mate,” Coppa called out as Wace pushed through the door into the living room. “Jen was lookin’ for ya earlier.”  

“She found me,” Wace answered shortly and Trunny looked nervously toward Coppa, who ignored him in favor of asking Wace a pointed question.  

“You on th’ piss?”  

Wace nodded, then said abruptly, “She’s gone.”  

“Who?” Trunny asked, earning a sharp look from Coppa.  

“Jen,” Wace said bitterly. “She’s left me.”  

“Aw, mate, I’m sure she’s --”  

“She’s fuckin’ _gone_ , okay?” Wace shouted, making Trunny flinch.  

“What ‘appened?” Coppa asked quietly.

He’d been the one to answer the phone when she’d rung early that morning. He’d heard the worry and desperation in her tone, the tears she’d been choking back as she’d said, “If -- if ‘e turns up, will ya ring me? Just ta -- just ta let me know ‘e’s okay.”  

“We, uh... we ‘ad a fight,” Wace said, almost to himself as he helped himself to a beer, staring blankly into the bottle for a moment. “I -- I yelled at ‘er an’ I... she left.”  

Trunny shook his head, letting out a short laugh of disbelief. “Jus’ give ‘er some time ta cool down, mate -- she’ll be back.”  

“No,” Wace said with a mirthless chuckle. “No she fuckin’ won’t. I made fuckin’ sure o’ that.”  

“What th’fuck did you do?” Trunny demanded.  

“Shut up,” Coppa hissed urgently, but Wace didn’t acknowledge his friend’s intervention.  

“I fucked it up good, Trun. It’s what I’m fuckin’ best at.”  

With that, he took his bottle of beer and retreated from the room, leaving Coppa and Trunny looking at each other.  

“Well, fuck,” Trunny finally said in awe. “Didn’t fuckin’ see that one comin’. Y’think she’s really left ‘im? For good, I mean?”  

“Keep your fuckin’ voice down,” Coppa growled, leaving the room as well, mainly so Trunny wouldn’t have anyone to continue the conversation with.  

“Well? Do ya?” Trunny yelled down the hall after him.

All he got for his troubles was the sound of a slamming door, and he sat down, leaning back against the couch.

“Well, fuck,” he muttered again to no one but the empty room.  


	32. When Your World Stops Spinning, You Will Be Here

It was pathetic, she thought. Some women ate for comfort, others shopped. She, of course, had to combine the two. It was something she’d noticed about herself; anytime she was depressed, confused, insert-troubling-emotion-here, she found herself at the grocery store, spending money on things she really didn’t need. She’d be cooking and baking for a month, non-stop, with all the things in her cart, and she wouldn’t eat half of it.  

She felt it was safe to say that the teacher’s lounge would have no shortage of homemade treats for awhile.  

“Hey, Jen!”  

She whirled toward the familiar voice, irrational fear springing up in her abdomen. The only time she’d ever been around Trunny was when she was with Wace, and for a split second, she’d been terrified that he’d have her ex-lover in tow. Her heart clenched as that particular phrase -- ex-lover -- slithered through her mind, and she felt a little sick.  

“Hey, Trunny,” she managed to say through a tight throat, forcing a smile. “How are ya?”  

“I’m okay,” he said cautiously as he approached her, his eyes scanning her face with something like concern. “How are you?”  

“I’m... not so good,” she admitted tiredly. “Haven’t been sleepin’ well lately.”  

“Uh-huh,” he muttered noncommittally. “Been beatin’ yourself up too?”  

“Huh?” she asked, honestly not understanding.  

He reached out and lightly touched the awful bruise underneath her eye and she flinched automatically, the skin -- and the memory -- still deeply raw and tender.  

“Oh, that. I, uh, left one o’ the cupboards open in the kitchen, walked right into it.”  

“Was he drunk?” Trunny asked quietly, too soft to be overheard by the other shoppers, and she trembled involuntarily, her eyes skittering away from his to land awkwardly by the bags of brown sugar on the metal shelf.  

“I - he - _Trun_...” she whispered, her voice sounding choked even to her own ears.

She shook her head, willing the tears away. There was a place in her that throbbed with hurt and anger, and she reached for the emotion. She was sick and tired of crying, and she wouldn’t shed one more tear over that man if she could help it. She didn’t know why she’d been too stupid, too blind, to accept the truth before now. She’d known it for a long time, had seen the signs, she just hadn’t wanted to believe. And there had been so many excuses, so many reasons why it wasn’t her.  

It was his father. It was Barky. It was stress. It was exhaustion. It was alcohol. But never, ever her. She knew better now.  

Trunny frowned fiercely, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes, but she moved her face away from his hand, unwilling to meet his gaze. He was angry; she read it all over his expression, and knew he was angry at Wace. Well, so was she, but something in her still hated being the reason that Wace’s friends were angry at him.  

 _No_ , she thought firmly at herself. _That, at least, isn’t your fault._   

“‘E’s a fuckin’ bastard,” Trunny whispered, and Jen shook her head despite herself.  

“Trun, no,” she protested weakly, and hated herself for it.

 _Damn it, girl, get over it. Stop bein’ in love with him._   

Her heart twisted with fear at the thought that she wasn’t sure that was actually possible.  

“‘E _is_ ,” Trunny insisted, nodding with conviction.  

She shrugged half-heartedly, not really wanting to continue the conversation in the direction it was going. It was getting her all worked up, and she could feel her stomach cramping with the stress of the emotions she’d been wallowing in. “Yeah, well…”  

Sensing her need to not continue the conversation, Trunny cleared his throat and nodded toward her cart. “Looks like you’re gettin’ ready to do some bakin’.”  

“Yeah,” she smiled, grateful for the return to neutral ground. “I like to... cook, and bake... it’s, um, compulsive.”  

Trunny chuckled, then waggled his eyebrows at her. “Well, should ya find you’ve got any extra, say, cookies lyin’ around... you jus’ let me know, an’ I’ll dispose of ‘em for ya.”  

“Will you now?” she laughed. “All right, then. I’ll keep that in mind. White chocolate?”  

He clasped a hand over his chest in mock distress, letting his head loll back dramatically. “Ye gods!” he exclaimed. “The lassie’s stolen me ‘eart!”  

Giggling despite herself, she shook her head at him. “All right, all right,” she chuckled, casting a glance around the store to see if anyone else had been watching his display of theatrics. “I’ll, uh... well,” she halted, uncertainty suddenly returning with a vengeance.  

She’d started to say she’d bring over the cookies, but Wace lived with Coppa and Trunny now, and she didn’t want to run the risk of seeing him. Then she was going to say she’d call, but Wace might be the one to answer the phone, and she knew she couldn’t handle that. Wouldn’t be able to hear his voice without simply unraveling.  

Trunny lowered his face, studying her with seriousness, seeming to read what was going on in her head. Of course, it was probably written all over her expression, she reflected bitterly.  

“’S’okay,” Trunny said quietly. “I understand.”  

She shrugged, looking away from him as a memory assaulted her: standing in the parking lot of the hospital, wrapped in Wace’s arms, telling him those very words -- _I understand_ \-- and the tender way he’d kissed her head, the softness in his voice when he’d whispered _thank you_.   

Pain raged through her and she shook her head, deliberately shattering the image against a hard mental wall. “Yeah,” she frowned. “Well. Come over anytime, Trun. I’m sure I’ll have somethin’ you can snack on.”  

Trunny nodded, then chucked her gently underneath her chin. “Hang in there, kiddo,” he said quietly. “We’re all gonna make it through this, one way or another.”  

She blinked rapidly, looking up to meet his eyes with a watery smile. “Thanks,” she said sincerely, and he gave her a chin-up gesture as he walked backwards away from her.  

“Anytime,” he called as he turned and left the store, and she rested both her hands on the grocery cart, leaning against it heavily. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and held it for a moment, letting it out in a slow exhale. Time to get back to the rest of her life... what was left of it, anyhow.  

Shaking her head, she pushed the heavy cart down the aisle, scooping up a bag of white chocolate chips and tossing them into the cart as she went.  

She hoped Trunny was right -- for her, right then, it seemed as if time was stuck in an endless morass of confusion and heartache. ‘Getting through this’ was a foreign concept, but she hung on to it with all her strength. Eventually, it had to get better, right? One way or another.


	33. Once, When Night Seemed Forever

Coppa fiddled with the green rabbit’s foot dangling from the ignition, toying with the idea that he should go inside. Then again, Wace would know he was in the parking lot. He’d called half an hour ago. And it was best to leave him alone with his father anyway.

Two of the three times he’d come to visit, the old man had lit into his friend and the arguments Coppa had fired back had only made things worse, Wace had said. Embarrassed, he’d thanked Coppa and promised with a weak grin he could take care of himself. Coppa wasn’t sure he believed that – there’d been enough bruised forearms and jaws to prove otherwise – but he let his friend save what little face he had left and stayed away.

The radio played softly and he stifled a yawn as he eyed the entrance to the hospital. He’d just laid down for a nap after an all-day shift at the construction site when the phone rang. He had half a mind to let it ring, but something told him to pick it up – and he was glad he did. There was something… _off_ about the way Wace had spoken to him. Coppa didn’t even point out that, earlier, Trunny had dropped off his car at the hospital for him to use while he went on a quick delivery.

He drummed his fingers on the wheel, smiling at the family who moved across the lot. A young son skipped, ID bracelet on his wrist and balloon bouncing in the wind, between his mother and father as they made their way to their car. So far, they were the only ones to have left the building.

He flipped down the visor to block the setting sun and checked his watch. Maybe Wace had spotted his car and already lef –

“Let’s go.”

Coppa jumped, slightly startled as Wace slipped into the passenger seat. “Where’d you come from?” He hadn’t even seen him.

Wace didn’t answer and the smile slid from Coppa’s face and turned into a frown. He did as he was told and started the engine, pulling the car easily from the blacktop. He turned the radio off and drove a few blocks in silence, becoming increasingly worried at the quick and uneven intakes of breath he could hear coming from his friend. His eyes slid sideways and he saw the white-knuckled grip Wace had on the knees of his jeans.

The old man was dead.

Wace had come home from the hospital a few nights ago, upset about something that had happened, but nothing ever like this. He was on the verge of crying and Coppa had no idea what to do.

Heart skipping a beat, he looked quickly in either direction and turned his car at an intersection, gliding a hundred yards down an empty street before coming to a stop. The sun was setting and air was stifling, but neither man noticed.

He killed the engine, allowing Wace a moment to get himself together. He felt his stomach tightened when he didn’t. Coppa heard his teeth chatter and the creak of the leather as he shifted in his seat. His boots pushed against the floorboard and Coppa watched openly as he pressed himself back into the bench seat and struggled to catch his breath.

“Wace?” he chanced softly.

There was no verbal reply. He only shook his head.

“Wace, come on – just…” He had no idea what he was going to say, only that if something didn’t change, his friend was going to explode. He was sure of it.

There was a harsh expulsion of breath and it was like Wace had been deflated. He slumped into his seat and his head hung limply between his shoulders. His hands flopped weakly in his lap.

Coppa slid across the bench seat several inches, hand hovering uncertainly over Wace’s shoulder before he touched him. He moved it to his back, rubbing small circles that he vaguely remembered finding comforting as a child. It didn’t seem to help Wace, who was on the verge of hyperventilating at that point.

“Wace, ya gotta…ya gotta calm down, mate. You’ll make y’self sick.”

Wace turned to face him and he was surprised by what he saw. His eyes were dry, but bloodshot, his jaws clenched, teeth bared in a snarl as he struggled to reign in some deep emotion that was threatening him.

“Just breathe, okay, mate? In and out and it’ll – ”

“I killed ‘im.”

It was a whisper, but Coppa heard it as loudly as a gunshot. Even then, he said, “ _What_?”

He turned to face the windscreen. “I…‘e…‘e told me to, Copp,” he said in fits and starts.

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” Coppa muttered as his hand slipped from Wace’s shoulder. He brought it to his face and scrubbed hard.

Suddenly aware of the situation they were in, his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. The street was still empty. He listened hard for sirens, but only heard dogs barking and a distant train whistle. He turned back to Wace and reminded himself to keep his voice even, casual. He didn’t want to make any accusations or cause Wace to panic any further.

He put his hand back on his shoulder, compelling Wace to look at him, to notice his questions. “What ‘appened? Tell me what ‘appened, tell me what ya did.”

Wace shook his head, struggling to form the words to his story.

“Jus’ start from the beginning. You went there after work and your dad was in the room…”

“And…an’ I…we watched some football on the telly. The, uh…the nurses came in, gave ‘im some food an-and…‘e got upset, so they left us.”

Coppa nodded, imagining the details as Wace recounted them. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary so far.

“When they left, ‘e…‘e looked up at me and…”

He stopped, and for a moment Coppa thought he wouldn’t be able to continue. Wace wiped angrily at the liquid that had pooled in his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath.

“‘E whispered somethin’ to me that I…I couldn’t hear ‘im, so ‘e said it again and…I told ‘im that I couldn’t do it and ‘e…‘e just said it again and I…the pillow was there an’…

“Wh-why would ‘e…why would ‘e tell me ta do that?” he pleaded as he brought his eyes back to Coppa. “Why would ‘e… _fuck_.”

Coppa pulled him into his arms and pressed his head against his chest, holding him tightly to him as he did his best to calm him. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be fine. I dunno why ‘e did that, mate. I dunno,” he lied, inwardly seething at the old man.

He knew exactly why he did it. Because he was a selfish bastard who couldn’t stop himself from putting this one last hurt on his son. Because he wanted to die and knew Wace would never disobey him.

“Did anybody say anything at the hospital, any of the nurses? What ‘appened after…” he whispered, still holding onto his friend.

He felt Wace shake his head and start to push himself away. “I…I don’t think so. They didn’t…they came in and did some sorta thing where they shocked ‘im, but…they didn’t try so hard.”

He sat up straight, taking a deep breath and rubbing at his face. “I had to uh, sign some…some papers and I – that’s when I called you. I filled ‘em out, then went out the back – there’s a table area where you can smoke. I don’t…I don’t remember anything after that.”

Coppa nodded, absorbing the information as well as he could. Nothing seemed out of place so far. If it came to it, they’d have to deny everything or Wace would be spending the next thirty years in prison – and since he wasn’t about to turn his friend in, they’d give Coppa a few just for good measure.

He couldn’t let that happen.

“Okay, Wace, we’re gonna go ‘ome,” he said, forcing assuredness into his voice. If Wace was going to be able to pull this off, he had to believe Coppa when he said it was all right.

“We’re gonna go ‘ome, get some dinner, eat and go ta bed, all right? ‘Cuz that’s what we prob’ly woulda done anyway. We gotta keep things as normal as possible, okay, mate? In case there’s any questions later, we gotta make sure things are normal.”

He waited for a nod from Wace and was relieved to see that he was trying to pull himself together. Now they had a plan, now Wace had something to do that kept him from thinking about what he’d done.

Coppa put the car into gear and pulled a sharp right, turning the car back to the main road. His heart was pounding in his ears the entire drive back, eyes dancing to each of the mirrors to make sure they weren’t being followed. His heart stuttered when he pulled onto their street and he spotted an unfamiliar car. Eyes squinting in the darkness, he disregarded it after a moment’s inspection – it was too old to be a police cruiser and it was parked too far away, empty.

He backed the car down the alley, pausing before he pulled the keys from the ignition. Wace seemed to hold the same sense of hesitancy, so Coppa made the first move and climbed from the car. He coaxed his friend into taking a shower while he put two pizzas in the toaster oven. They watched the evening news and drank two beers apiece, leaving the bottles in the crate by the doorway and the plates in the sink until morning.

Coppa washed his face and came back to the bedroom that he and Wace were sharing while they did the remodeling on the main bathroom. Wace was already in his twin bed, sheet pulled to his neck, face blank and eyes unseeing.

Coppa started to say something, but stopped himself. Anything he could’ve said had already _been_ said or wouldn’t do any good.

He reached up from his bed and turned off the light, sinking into his warm pillow with a mild sense of trepidation. Wace was covered in shadows for the most part, but he could see the glint in his eyes from the streetlights. Coppa watched him silently, relieved that his face was hidden in the darkness.

It was a long time before either of them slept.


	34. I Can't See A Thing In The Sky

The phone rang loudly and Jen looked at it as if it were an alien object, resting her head on her hand from where she’d been leaned over the kitchen table, attempting to read an article on how to help children who had difficulty with words learn to spell. None of the well-crafted words had been filtering into her brain and it seemed as though the reason for the noise coming from the plastic appliance wasn’t having any more luck.  

Finally, she reached over with a sigh and picked it up. “Hello?”  

“Jen?”  

“Yeah - who’s this?” Some part of her cringed at her lack of manners, but she just didn’t have the energy to put forth any more of an effort.  

“Hey, it’s Trun.”  

“Oh.”

It was all she could manage, what with the way the pit of her stomach seemed to drop at that. Even though he liked her, always had, Trunny wouldn’t be calling her just to chat. The only reason he’d be calling now was if something was wrong, most likely something that had to do with Wace. She didn’t want to know if something had gone wrong, because either she’d want to help him -- which she couldn’t do -- or she wouldn’t, which would bear staggering implications about just how badly he’d hurt her.  

After a brief pause during which it became obvious she wasn’t going to say anything else, Trunny cleared his throat and continued, “Just thought you might wanna know, Wace’s dad died yesterday mornin’. We got hold o’ Barky an’ he’s comin’ home, so the funeral’ll be whenever he gets here, I guess. Want me ta let ya know?”  

Finally regaining a little of her composure, Jen shook her head, despite the fact that he couldn’t see her, and answered. “Don’t bother; he wouldn’t want me there, Trun.”  

She heard the silence on the other end, could imagine his disbelief and his arguments -- her own arguments: who would Wace lean on if she wasn’t there? Well, he could fuckin’ stand on his own two feet, that’s what; he’d bloody well made it clear her help wasn’t welcome.  

“All right,” Trunny said finally, quietly, and Jen sighed into the phone.  

“Thanks for callin’, though,” she offered. “Was a nice thought.”  

“Yeah, well, you take care.”  

“Thanks, Trun. You, too. Bye now.”

“Later.”  

With that, the line went dead, and Jen lowered her head to the table, feeling the glossy pages of the magazine stick to her forehead in the humidity of the day. If only creative teaching for mildly dyslexic students could take her mind off this whole clusterfuck, things might be a lot better... or at least seem that way for a bit.   

***

“Did you hear about the wreck this morning?”  

Jen paused and looked up at the fourth year English teacher, Bridget Manning, where she was leaning into Jen’s empty classroom. The children had left school early that day, Thursday, and would tomorrow as well. Their break was starting that weekend, and they were always impossible to handle just before a holiday.  

“No, I didn’t,” she said slowly, feeling a strange foreboding in the pit of her stomach as if what she heard next was going to shift the axis of her world.  

“Some guy drove his car into a bridge out on Old King’s Highway. Damn lucky for him the bridge didn’t collapse on ‘im -- some trucker found ‘im totterin’ about early this mornin’. It was on the news -- frightful ugly mess, it was.”  

“I don’t watch the news,” Jen commented absently, her mind spinning. “Did -- did they say who the guy was?”

“Who, the trucker?”  

“No,” Jen answered, frustration thick in her tone. “The guy who had the wreck.”  

“Oh, ‘im -- nah. Privacy an’ all that, I guess. Maybe ‘is family ‘asn’t been notified yet, so they can’t release the name.”  

Her gut twisted and she nodded as Bridget waved and continued down the hall, her eyes focused on her desk but not seeing it. Something inside of her was convinced it was Wace and she thought crazily, He doesn’t have any family to be notified -- who’s going to take care of him now? Barky’s in Queensland and I... well, no one would call me anymore, I guess...

She thought of Coppa and Trunny and mentally crossed her fingers that, somehow, they would know.  

You don’t even know it’s him, you crazy woman, she chided herself, shaking out of her melancholy. You just think that because you’re obsessed with him and everything’s always about Wace to you. Time to let it go, sister.  

She nodded firmly, as if settling the matter once and for all, but she couldn’t get rid of the shadow of a doubt that lingered in the back of her mind.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things kind of get jumbled and rushed at this point. The story needs to be fleshed out here in some parts - and there is a lot missing, but the holes are filled in during the next part of the story, which is told more from Wace's side.


End file.
